


This Is Me

by vix_spes



Category: Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky (2009), Deadline Gallipoli (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bonding, Eventual Happy Ending, Hannibal Extended Universe, Infertility, Intersex, Knotting, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Character Death, Moustache Husbands, Mpreg, Piano Sex, Scenting, True Mates, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-06-14 15:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15391344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: Ellis has always been different from other omegas, refusing to do what is expected of him. He's also never believed in the concept of true mates before but an encounter on a train could change all of that.





	1. Chapter 1

The instant that the knot slipped out of his hole, Ellis was up and getting dressed, not caring a jot about the semen steadily trickling down his thighs. Charlie Hamilton was a good fuck, but he was not a good conversationalist and, to be quite brutally honest, Ellis only came for the fuck. Alphas of their class were ten-a-penny in London but few of them knew how to use their cocks like Charlie. Having got what he wanted, he was going to leave. As soon as he was on the street, he lit a cigarette and strolled homewards, enjoying both the sunshine and the deep-seated yet pleasurable ache that lingered from a good pounding.

Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett was regarded as a rather uncommon figure in aristocratic circles. The eldest son of Sir Ellis and Lady Frances Ashmead-Bartlett, he was an omega and as far from being stereotypical as feasibly possible. whilst other male omegas didn’t bother to work, merely whiled away their time at the club until they were married, at which point they proceeded to do the same thing merely with the addition of carrying and birthing pups, Ellis was notorious for doing the opposite. He had been called to the bar at the age of twenty-one before becoming a war correspondent, much to the disapproval of his family, publishing a book based upon his time in Manchuria reporting on the Russo-Japanese war. Yet, their unhappiness with Ellis’ career choice nothing compared to their disapproval of what they called his dissolute lifestyle. For Ellis made no secret of the fact that he delighted in the carnal pleasures of life; good food, good alcohol, good cigarettes and, most importantly, good sex and plenty of it.

It was generally expected that – for the more traditional families certainly – omegas should, if possible, remain pure and untouched until marriage. For the more liberally minded, then toys were acceptable or, if very discrete, a heat partner. Male omegas had it easier than females in that they could have sex with other omegas and betas if they were doing the penetrating rather than being penetrated and thus not having to worry about pregnancy. Most omegas had a preference and, while Ellis rather enjoyed fucking a variety of betas and omegas – both male and female – he found that he infinitely preferred being fucked. There was nothing quite like being filled to the brim and stuffed full of alpha cock, even better if he got knotted. His voracious sexual appetite was almost legendary, as was the fact that he made no attempt to hide it, not giving two figs that people knew he liked sex and who he’d slept with.

Unfortunately for Ellis, the pleasant start to his morning was not to last. He arrived at his home, hoping to have some coffee and maybe some eggs and bacon considering the appetite that he’d worked up, only to be greeted by his parents. Sir Ellis – a British-American politician of some note – and his wife, Lady Frances, were an arranged marriage. They had known each other by sight when they were engaged but nothing more. Theirs was not a grand love affair; they were not the idealised true mate match that overly romantic youngsters aspired to.

Not that Ellis was one of them. He thought that the whole concept of true mates was utter hogwash. The idea that for every alpha out there was the perfect omega and when they met it would feel like the stars had aligned and everything was right with the world? No, it sounded like a cheap romance being peddled for pennies. Ellis was under no illusions – he would be expected to marry, he was already old for an unmated ago, male or not – but, if he was lucky, then he would be able to tolerate the alpha chosen for him, even if he couldn’t love him. And hopefully Ellis’ alpha would be able to tolerate Ellis looking elsewhere to ensure that his needs were met.

Visits from his parents were never the easiest of times but Ellis knew that he was in for a fraught time when the first thing out of his father’s mouth was not a greeting, but the words ‘we’ve found you an alpha’. Ellis drained his coffee and lit another cigarette.

“I beg your pardon, Father. I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“Don’t be glib, boy. It doesn’t suit you and it’s disrespectful to your sire. I said, we’ve found you an alpha.”

“I was unaware that you were on the hunt.”

“Boy…”

“Ellis.” Both men subsided as it was not clear as to whether Lady Ashmead-Bartlett was referring to her spouse or her eldest son. “You know that you’re expected to marry. Your father and I have been inordinately lenient in letting you go so long, but you’re not getting any younger and there are pups to think of. No-one is expecting you to fall in love. Love is not necessary for a successful marriage. Our marriage was arranged by our parents and your father and I have been perfectly happy. I see no reason that you and your spouse to be won’t experience the same.”

“Why now though? You know that I’ve applied to be an official correspondent attached to the British Army.”

“For God’s Sake, boy.” Sir Ellis exploded. “We’ve indulged you long enough. It’s time for you to do what is expected of you and be a proper omega as befitting your station. You will marry the alpha that your mother and I have chosen for you and there will be no more arguments.”

“Very well. who are you selling me off to?”

“William Astor of New York. Not one of the main branch, but still wealthy and respectable from a well-known family.”

“An American? You couldn’t find anyone in London?”

“No because you’ve already sullied yourself with half of London. God know how we ended up with such a promiscuous omega for a son. Was it really necessary to spread your legs so much?”

Ellis rolled his eyes. If he’d heard this lecture once, he’d heard it a hundred times. “When do I get to meet this amazing specimen of an alpha then?”

Lady Frances was either oblivious to Ellis’ sarcasm or she was just choosing to ignore it. A glance at his father’s increasingly florid face told Ellis that was not oblivious.

“We’ve booked a table at the Savoy for seven pm. Please endeavour to look your best.”

“Yes. Keep out of bed for the rest of the day, be it yours or someone else’s. Do not disgrace us this evening. Come, Frances. We’ve been here long enough.”

The interaction with his parents had put a foul taste in his mouth but Ellis forced himself to eat and satiate his grumbling belly. That done, he went upstairs to bathe, shave and dress in clean clothes; he hadn’t missed the disgusted look that had crossed his father’s face when he caught whiff of the undeniable musky scent of sex and alpha clinging to Ellis. With that done, he made his way to Fleet Street and the offices of the National Press Association.

In truth, being a war correspondent wasn’t his first choice, even though it was something that he had done before both as a special correspondent for Reuters in Morocco and for the Daily Telegraph in the Balkans. When war had broken out the previous year, Ellis had applied to re-join his old regiment – the Bedfordshires – but had been turned down for medical reasons. Personally, Ellis didn’t think that was the reason. He believed that it was because he was an omega.

Two Conservative governments followed by an ineffective Liberal one meant that omegas had found some of their liberties curtailed and known omegas were no longer allowed to see active service in His Majesty’s Army. Oh, the British Army knew that there were hundreds of omegas amongst them, taking suppressants to stay hidden and there was nothing that could be done about them but known omegas? Well, they could be prevented from joining or re-joining. It also probably didn’t help that Ellis had refused to sleep with one of the alphas on the panel. So, war correspondence was the closest that he was going to get to the action; the NPA didn’t give two figs as to his secondary gender as long as he did his job.

An hour later, a far more satisfied Ellis exited the Press Association offices onto the bustle of Fleet Street. As though the weather had known the outcome of the meeting, the sun chose that moment to burst out from behind the clouds, bathing Ellis in golden warmth despite the chill in the air. The NPA, chaired by Lord Burnham, his former boss at The Daily Telegraph, had selected Ellis to be the London Press representative for the Dardanelles Campaign. This called for a lunch at Brown’s as, apparently, he would be at The Savoy that evening and the Waldorf wasn’t an option now.

(~*~)

It was still a relatively ebullient Ellis who strolled into the Savoy that evening. Despite the almost overwhelming urge to frustrate his father, he had behaved himself and after lunch at Brown’s, he had occupied himself by starting to equip himself for his upcoming trip. He had some knowledge of Turkey, having visited with his father as a guest of the sultan when he was just seventeen. Even so, there was going to be a considerable difference to visiting as honoured guests and going attached to an invading army.

Ellis paused at the entrance to the dining room, able to spot his parents immediately. He was assuming that the man with them was his apparent betrothed. The alpha was attractive enough, he supposed – Ellis had certainly slept with several alphas who were far more unfortunate looking – but that wasn’t the point. The point was that his parents had all but sold him into the mans bed. He was also several years older than Ellis which made Ellis leery … was their something wrong with him? A relatively attractive, single alpha from a prominent family with considerable wealth unmarried at the age of nearly forty? It set alarm bells ringing. Still, knowing that he would soon escape made the evenings prospects more bearable.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for Ellis to realise that the alarm bells had been ringing for a very good reason and that there was no amount of alcohol that would make the evening bearable. Indeed, if Ellis relied on alcohol to make this marriage bearable then his liver and kidneys were going to give out within six months. However, alcohol and plenty of it was the only way that Ellis was making it through this evening. Well, that and making eyes at the hulking beta of a barman who he’d slept with before. He may not be able to knot Ellis, but he had a frankly wonderful cock and he knew exactly how to give Ellis what he needed, which was a good hard fuck. Ellis certainly wasn’t going to get one from his intended.

William Astor was everything that Ellis detested about alphas. A true conservative, he was a throwback to the time before the omega liberation movements had started to make their voices heard. As far as he was concerned, omegas were nothing more than a convenient slick hole to fuck and then raise the inevitable pups. They shouldn’t have opinions on anything, speak only when spoken to, and god forbid that they hold a job. Where on earth had his parents found this relic? Ellis had been under the – apparently mistaken – assumption that America was progressive when it came to secondary genders. The man didn’t know what was in store for him with Ellis because one thing was certain, Ellis wasn’t going to change for any alpha. They had just reached the dessert part of their meal accompanied by a discussion about the bonding ceremony when Ellis decided to drop his bombshell.

“Well, I hope you’re prepared for a long engagement. I predict that it will be at least twelve months before I can even think about organising a ceremony.”

“And why would that be?”

“I had a meeting with the National Press Association today and Lord Burnham has selected me to be the London Press representative for the Eastern Campaign. I sail for the Dardanelles next week.”

Job done, Ellis sat back and watched as his father and his betrothed exploded whilst his mother tried to calm them down, reminding them that they were very much in the public eye and being watched. Ellis simply took a drink of his brandy and caught the barman’s eye, raising his eyebrow in silent question, receiving a nod in return along with a rather lascivious wink. Not a total waste of an evening then.

~*~

A week later, Ellis watched as the lights of England faded away with every passing minute. He was bound for Greece aboard a military ship and from there north to the Dardanelles. He had his typewriter, a good amount of top-quality alcohol, vast quantities of his favourite brand of cigarettes and as many suppressants as he’d been able to lay his hands on. He was also, unfortunately, still betrothed.

He had no idea how they had managed it, but his parents had convinced Astor to not break the engagement and they had also managed to convince him to allow a long engagement - some bollocks about Ellis’ pedigree – and they’d probably also agreed a lower dowry. It wasn’t ideal, but the war had bought him some time; who knew how things would turn out. For now, Ellis was sailing to what freedom and adventure could be found.

For him, at least.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to TigerPrawn for having a look at this for me ... any further mistakes are mine alone.

Ellis was no stranger to war. How could he be? Not only had he seen action as a soldier during the Boer War before he had presented (his secondary gender had revealed itself when he was in his late teens) but then he had reported on the Russo-Japanese War, as well as French incursions in Morocco, alongside the Italian army in Tripoli and had been in the Balkans in 1907. The Dardanelles Campaign though? This was like nothing he had ever seen before. This was not a conflict, this was carnage.

The numbers of men being killed was truly horrifying. Ellis had arrived towards the end of April, scant weeks after his engagement had been agreed and just in time for the landings at Anzac Cove. The notice in The Times announcing his engagement had been published whilst he was aboard ship and there had been plenty of whispering about it behind Ellis’ back. Yet, even seeing the fact that his parents had all but sold him to a Conservative American alpha in black and white had distracted him from the sheer catastrophe unfolding around him.

What was almost worse - in Ellis’ eyes - was the sheer arrogance being shown by the British top brass who were part of the campaign, especially by General Hamilton. Ellis had first seen it when he had shown them the maps that he had been given at the Turkish Embassy in Paris, when he had pointed out the fundamental differences between them and the maps that the British were using. The physical evidence was undeniable - it was right under their noses - yet he had been dismissed with a flick of the wrist. It was galling. Moreso because he knew that if he had been an alpha it wouldn’t have been the case. Hell if he had done the same before he had presented, he wouldn’t have been so summarily dismissed. Ellis knew the point that Hamilton was trying to make as subtley as he could - only subtle for Hamilton was a sledgehammer - this was war and there was no place for omegas here.

It didn’t help Ellis’ case that the other two war correspondents at Anzac Cove were both Australian and both alphas; Charles Bean and Phillip Schuler. Schuler had seemed like a perfectly decent chap. The son of a newspaper editor, he had been rather gratifyingly in awe when he met Ellis. Bean, on the other hand, had seemed to take an instant dislike to him. Whether that was to his secondary gender, his journalistic skills or just his personality, Ellis didn’t know. What he did know was that Bean took every chance he could to make a derogatory comment about Ellis, particularly when he struggled to keep up with one of the unit’s physical training sessions. It was rather infuriating really because, given that there were only three of them, they would almost certainly be more successful if they worked together. Bean, however, wanted nothing of the sort, so Ellis had allowed himself to feel rather smug when not only was his the first official account of the Anzac Cove landings to be published but that it made him considerably more popular amongst the Australian and New Zealand soldiers.

Ellis’ popularity amongst the Anzac soldiers also meant that he was never short of a fuck when he wanted one. They seemed to be mostly alphas and betas - if there were omegas then they were on suppressants and hiding to boot - and were happy to indulge Ellis with a good romp in the sack or a thorough knotting. Especially when there was a guarantee that they wouldn’t catch venereal disease; unlike in Cairo, where they had been stationed before shipping out. One thing that Ellis found curious was the lack of interest in him from his two alpha colleagues. Schuler clearly found Ellis attractive but hadn’t attempted to take things further for whatever reason and Ellis didn’t see the point of working for a knot when he didn’t have to. As for Bean. Well, even if Ellis was interested - which he wasn’t - Bean clearly wasn’t. Stick up his arse notwithstanding, Ellis was actually pretty certain that the man was asexual.

Sex aside, Ellis’ own experience was unexpected, to say the least. He had not long been in the Dardanelles when he found himself moved off the ship that housed all of the British top brass and onto the HMS Majestic. The excuse that he was given was that it would give him a different perspective to that of Bean but Ellis knew it for what it was; he was being moved because he was falling out of favour. Ellis was not a stupid omega. Far from it, as his two published books and law degree would attest. He knew that, for all his friendliness, Jack Churchill suspected Ellis’ long-standing dalliance with his omegan wife Gwendoline. If he didn’t then he was far stupider than Ellis had previously thought and General Hamilton, without question, knew of Ellis’ ongoing infatuation with his son Charlie’s cock. And that was even before you took into account the rather scathing comments that Ellis had made about the military decisions being made by Hamilton.

They were bad decisions.

The disparity between the maps that the British commanders had and the actual terrain ashore caused huge confusion, and the fact that no overarching decision had been made regarding close support had led to heavy losses on some of the landings. All suggestions of re-embarkation as the Anzac troops had been pushed back from the Nek and Baby 700 were refused by Hamilton who had instead given the order to dig in. Two thousand Anzac troops were killed or wounded that day as the journalists watched in horror.

One month after he landed in Anzac Cove, Ellis found himself leaving again, even if only temporarily. HMS Majestic, Ellis’ supposed berth for the campaign, got torpedoed and sank, losing more than a few hands with her. Ellis had known that it was coming, having seen HMS Triumph sunk by a German U-boat just two days previously. Having expected it, Ellis had made what preparations he could, helping to drink all of the ships champagne and tugging his mattress onto the deck with the help of one of the beta midshipmen so that he didn’t get trapped below decks when the inevitable happened. Still, for all of Ellis’ preparations, nothing could change the fact that suppressants didn’t work effectively - or at all - once introduced to salt water and he had nothing left in terms of clothes. So, he was bound for Malta to restock his supplies before returning to the Dardanelles.

However, while he was in Malta, Ellis made one of the impulse decisions that he was well-known for and that people close to him hated. Instead of returning immediately to the Dardanelles, he decided to go to London and personally share his concerns about the campaign. What was the point of knowing all of these influential people if he didn’t use the acquaintance now and then?

It had mostly gone as expected. He had met with a number of senior political figures including Bonar Law, Winston Churchill, Arthur Balfour and Prime Minister Asquith and been questioned by Kitchener, the Secretary of State for War. Yet, while they all listened to him, none of them would acknowledge the truth of his words. Indeed, the only immediate outcome of his actions seemed to the detrimental effect they had on his sex life. Gwendoline Churchill had unceremoniously asked him to leave a dinner party and Charlie Hamilton had actually stopped mid-fuck when Ellis had confirmed why he was in London. It was all in all, more than a little exasperating. Ellis hadn’t had a good fuck in months - not since he left London, as the Anzac alphas treated him like a piece of fragile china - and he had always been able to rely on Charlie in the past. Even worse, now that his engagement had been announced, he was essentially a social pariah in London. In fact, he was pretty certain that a leper would be more welcome. None of his usual fucks, be they alpha, beta or omega, would give him the time of day. He was clearly going to have to rely on a member of the Armed Forces to slake his lust and tell them to put their back into it. For King and Country and all that rot.

When he got back to the Dardanelles, life for Ellis was much the same except for the fact that he and the other journalists were living on Imbros along with Hamilton and the rest of the command staff. Despite the change in location, the campaign was still a shambles. Ellis had made sure that he was on the peninsula to watch the landings at Suvla Bay. His report was scathing; “Confusion reigned supreme. The troops were hunting for water, the staff were hunting for their troops, and the Turkish snipers were hunting for their prey.” It was around this time that Ellis discovered the reason for the disinterest of both Bean and Schuler; they were that rare breed who were only attracted to others of the same secondary gender.

Bean had been shot in the thigh in early August and Schuler, who had been on HMHS Gascon when Ellis had returned to London, dropped everything and decamped to Imbros to nurse the other alpha. Ellis had discovered that they were more than just compatriots was when he had all but burst into Bean’s tent, wanting to know why he was the only one of them sending out reports. The two of them had pulled apart quickly - just one of the tell-tale signs that was apparent - and Ellis had raised an eyebrow.

“My apologies, chaps. I hadn’t realised that kind of nursing was necessary. I’ll just leave you gents to it.”

Schuler had collared him several days later and begged him not to say anything - same secondary gender relationships, particularly alpha/alpha and omega/omega, were still illegal in the Commonwealth and a good many countries besides, and Ellis had promised immediately. Why would he stop people from living outside the ridiculous expectations put upon them when that was precisely what he did every day? It didn’t exactly make himself and Bean bosom buddies but there was at least something of a detente between them.

One thing Ellis had brought back with him from London, smuggled aboard for him by a young sailor - an alpha willing to do just about anything for the opportunity to sleep with an omega - was a movie camera. He had it with him when he climbed Chocolate Hill to watch the final assault of the stagnated and all but disastrous August Offensive; the Battle of Scimitar Hill, one final attempt to connect the Helles sector with Anzac at the south of the Peninsula.

It failed. Ellis caught it all on camera, as the Allies were unable to push through and the Ottomans consolidated their hold on the surrounding areas. He caught it on camera as five thousand Allied soldiers out of fourteen thousand perished under constant bombardment from shells and shrapnel as well as sniper fire. Even on Chocolate Hill, Ellis didn’t remain unscathed. A stray sniper shot grazed his cheek and he was then buried when an artillery shell landed nearby, although he was dug out quickly enough. The bullet hadn’t even done much damage; a mere scratch that Ellis felt made him look rather rakish.

And then September came and with it a new distraction in the form of another Australian journalist. Keith Murdoch was a beta, around the same age as Ellis, if not a bit older. In him, Ellis found not only a relatively decent fuck for a beta but a receptive audience for his commentaries. Ellis hadn’t stopped his scathing analyses of the campaign, indeed his attacks on British military command and their tactical decisions had been particularly vitriolic. Yet nothing changed. Despite the fact that the August offensive had failed categorically. So, one evening, flat on his back with Keith Murdoch thrusting in and out of him at a pace that was far too languorous for Ellis’ liking, Ellis convinced - through judicious use of his exceptional control over his pelvic floor muscles - the other reporter to carry a letter to London for him, destined for Asquith, hoping to bypass the strict censorship controls the journalists were subjected to. Murdoch had been all too happy to oblige, although whether that was due to his agreement with Ellis’ opinions or the frankly marvellous good orgasm he had just received, Ellis wasn’t sure. Personally, he liked to think it was both.

Unfortunately for Ellis, Murdoch had been stopped in Marseilles and the letter intercepted. He might have escaped with little more than a caution but, Ellis may have referred to the final offensive as “the most ghastly and costly fiasco in our history since the Battle of Bannockburn.” He had been summarily dismissed from Imbros and the Dardanelles Campaign and sent back to England. It was for this precise reason that Ellis was currently on a train heading north through France and bound for Paris. He hoped to be able to get some champagne, some good food and maybe a fuck or two before he returned to London. At the very least, it would be nice to wear something that wasn’t khaki or beige and didn’t stink to high heaven.

What Ellis really hadn’t been expecting was company. And alpha company at that. Indeed, Ellis hadn’t really expected many other passengers at all, so this was rather unexpected. The man was well-dressed in dark clothing, rather Slavic looking with his slicked back dark hair and moustache, a small pair of spectacles perched on his nose. In fact, the more Ellis observed him, the more familiar he looked. When he spoke, it was in French but with an accent that definitely wasn’t the same. Russian perhaps? Definitely Eastern European.

“I apologise, I hope you do not mind my intrusion. It would appear we both have seats in this carriage.”

“By all mean, Mr?”

“Stravinsky. Igor Stravinsky.”

Now that got Ellis’ attention. It also explained why the man looked so familiar. He had seen that face scowling out from the front page of all the Fleet Street papers after the catastrophe that was the Rite of Spring premiere in Paris.

“A pleasure to meet you, Maestro. Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett, war correspondent for Fleet Street.”

As Ellis reached out and shook hands with the man, the most curious thing happened, something that had never happened to Ellis before. The second that they made skin to skin contact, it was almost as though the air around them turned electric and it felt like there was a buzzing in Ellis’ ears, whilst his skin was all but vibrating. He watched as Stravinsky’s nostrils flared and he gave an audible sniff, just as Ellis became aware of the most heavenly smell. There was the familiar alpha musk, but it was deeper somehow, mixed with hints of ink, cigarette smoke and what he thought was sandalwood. It was a delicious enough smell that, combined with the sensations and the attractiveness of the alpha, Ellis felt himself get a little bit wet.

Ellis had heard of this phenomenon before. Had always scoffed at the people who had claimed to experience it.

True mates.

The ridiculous notion that for every alpha was a perfect omega and that their union had been fated. It was all claptrap. Or so Ellis had always believed. But he hadn’t just imagined that visceral reaction to Stravinsky’s presence. Then again, maybe Ellis had simply gone too long without sex. The Dardanelles campaign had been one long dry spell for Ellis - with the exception of a few random soldiers and Keith Murdoch - and, considering that he had such a high sex drive, it had been nigh on torturous for Ellis. Maybe this was just an over-reaction to the touch of an alpha. And a dominant alpha at that.

However, Stravinsky seemed to disagree.

“родственная душа.” When Ellis looked blank, he translated. “Soulmates. True mates.”

Ellis snorted. “I do not believe in the concept, Mr Stravinsky. Even if I did, you are married if I remember correctly and I am engaged.”

“I am married, da. But my Katya is a beta and the bond between true mates supersedes any other union. As for your engagement, it is merely that. You are not yet married or bonded. It is an easy thing for you to break.”

“For you, perhaps.” Ellis was pretty certain that his parents would disown him or drop dead with shame if he broke off his engagement. Maybe it was worth considering for that reason alone. Stravinsky’s easy dismissal of his relationship with his wife also had Ellis a little wary; it was not something that he had heard of before and, without doubt, warranted investigation.

“Why are you so against this? Are you in love with your affianced? This alpha that you say you are promised to?”

“No! Far from it. It is an arranged marriage; the alpha was chosen by my parents. As for true mates, it’s a ridiculous antiquated notion that only immature omegas and hopeless romantics choose to believe in. Things like that don’t happen in real life. Only in fairy tales.”

“Then how do you explain the connection between us?”

“Well, I don’t know where you’ve travelled from, but the Dardanelles during the Gallipoli Campaign wasn’t exactly thriving with sexual opportunities. Our connection could just be that I’m a horny omega giving in to my base instincts thanks to my proximity to an alpha.”

To Ellis’ frustration, Stravinsky didn’t react to his outburst. “I am returning from the Ukraine where I have been checking on my property. I am currently contracted to the Ballet Russes, who are kept in Paris due to the war.”

“I saw the Rite of Spring when it premiered in London. Your work is quite unlike anything else I’ve ever heard.” Stravinsky’s reaction was faint, but Ellis caught it; a look of surprised pleasure mixed with pride buried in the depths of those dark eyes. He did choose to ignore the slight fizz of pleasure that he felt at having provoked said reaction.

To Ellis’ surprise - and no little annoyance - the journey to Paris passed almost too quickly. They had conversed on any number of subjects and Stravinsky hadn’t cared that Ellis had opinions - even when they differed from his own - and hadn’t even been perturbed when Ellis had insisted upon purchasing his own lunch from what passed as the dining carriage. It was simultaneously both a revelation and a little disconcerting.

This man - this alpha - seemed utterly convinced that they were true mates, yet he hadn’t pushed Ellis’ reticence, hadn’t forced an opinion upon him. He had treated Ellis differently to almost every other alpha that Ellis had ever met. The difference between Stravinsky and Ellis’ fiancé were stratospheric. Yet, for all his insistence that he didn’t believe in the concept of true mates - and he didn’t - Ellis couldn’t deny that he found Stravinsky attractive. That a small part of him wondered what it would be like to believe in true mates, to believe so adamantly that there was one out there for you - the other half of your soul - and you knew them instinctively.

Despite his own insistence that true mates didn’t exist, Ellis couldn’t help but feel disappointment when the train came to a stop in Gare du Nord and the time came to bid farewell to this alpha who confused Ellis so.

“This is farewell then.”

The small smile sent Ellis’ heart skipping a few beats.

“I think not. More of an adieu.”

“You think we will see each other again?”

Ellis’ heart skipped a few more beats and his pulse raced as, instead of merely shaking his hand, Stravinsky scented his wrist, almost nuzzling it before pressing a lingering kiss to the pulse point.

“I know it.”


	3. Chapter 3

The welcome that Ellis received once he was back in London was hardly ebullient, but then Ellis had expected nothing less and, in truth, he was a little relieved. He hadn’t lingered in Paris as he had intended, too disconnected by his run in with the singularly uncommon alpha, Maestro Igor Stravinsky. The interactions on the train journey had impacted Ellis far more than he had expected and he found himself replaying their conversations, remembering the alpha’s intoxicating perfume and the way that he had scented Ellis’ wrist as they made their farewells. Ellis still didn’t believe in the concept of true mates, but he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be involved with an alpha of Stravinsky’s ilk.

And then Ellis was thrown back into company with his affianced and brought back to earth with an unceremonious bump. He wasn’t really sure why the man had hung around in London for the last five months, but he was still as bloody awful as Ellis remembered. Astor had been horrified by the scar that now graced Ellis’ cheek, crying that he had disfigured himself and devolving into a lecture about how an omegas place was in the home and that they should absolutely not be in an arena of war. Ellis bit back the urge to make an acerbic comment about how, if the alpha didn’t like this one then he would have an apoplexy at seeing the webbing of shrapnel scars that decorated Ellis’ thighs and arse from his involvement with previous conflicts.

Instead, he wondered how Stravinsky would respond in the same situation. He hadn’t commented upon the facial scar during their train journey and, upon recollection, he had actually seemed to be quite impressed by Ellis’ profession.

As it happened, Ellis had plenty of time to think about the unusual alpha, as he contracted jaundice shortly after his return and ended up spending a month in hospital. Ellis hated every minute of it. the alpha doctors didn’t attempt to hide their disdain or their opinions that Ellis was ill because he had made the ill-advised decision to run off to war. The beta and omega nurses were almost no better; the pitying looks at seeing that he was unmated and then falling over themselves to fawn over Astor when he deigned to make an appearance. Ellis had made an attempt to defend his position but nothing he said had an effect. Instead, he had decided to conduct some investigations into alpha/beta/omega relationships to alleviate his boredom. To see if what Stravinsky had said held any truth. Not for any reason other than professional curiosity of course. As he was still hospital-bound, he was forced to enlist his beta friend and colleague Lester Lawrence to gather the research materials for him.

The results had been enlightening.

Stravinsky hadn’t lied.

While British law was still a little hazy and convoluted for whatever reason, Russian laws weren’t. Despite the best attempts by Comrade Lenin and his party, the Imperial Alpha/Omega Marriage Act of 1801 still stood. Upon discovery of their true mate, an alpha was permitted to dissolve their existing marriage in favour of a union with the omega in question. A little further digging confirmed that Stravinsky’s current wife, Katya, was both his cousin and a beta. It had not been a well-favoured marriage by the family. There was no lie in Stravinsky’s words; it hadn’t just been an alpha’s attempt to bed an omega. At least not solely.

The knowledge didn’t change Ellis’ opinion of true mates though. Or the fact that he was engaged. Not that it mattered. After all, Stravinsky was in Paris, Ellis in London and who knew when – if – they would ever see each other again. It wasn’t as though Ellis had a major decision to make. It wasn’t as though he had to choose between his bore of a conservative, Yank alpha fiancé and the uncommon European alpha, who had enigmatic good looks, a divine scent and who had respected Ellis’ opinions, even if they had differed to his own.

No, Ellis had merely done this as research. It was purely for work, fulfilling his role as an investigative journalist. He was nothing if not a consummate professional after all.

Upon his release from hospital, Ellis was then approached to give a series of twenty-five lectures in England on his time in the Dardanelles which gave him a reprieve from Astor’s disapproving hovering, even if only temporarily. Unfortunately, it also came with a visit from Scotland Yard and the War Office. He was summarily informed that they were under instructions to stop and arrest him if he said anything that embarrassed the government. Ellis had been gobsmacked by the gall of it. The arrogance of the alphas in charge – both in the government and the War Office – was overwhelming. It was due to their incompetency and egotism that thousands of British and Commonwealth soldiers were dying every day, but Ellis couldn’t say anything that might embarrass them. It was farcical.

Amazingly, nothing happened despite the fact that Ellis defiantly refused to change a single aspect of his lecture and it was well-received by the attendees. His subsequent lectures were equally well-received and, though he was wasn’t approached again, the presence of the detectives served as a silent reminder that, if Ellis’ criticism went too far, they would not hesitate to act.

Of course, it was at this point that the fiancé Ellis did his best to forget existed decided that he wanted to introduce Ellis to his family in the States before the wedding. The last thing Ellis wanted was the sea-voyage with his old-fashioned alpha in close proximity, but he supposed that he had to be grateful that he’d at least waited until Ellis finished his lecture tour. All being well, they could do it in five days if the seas and weather were good and, more importantly, if they weren’t targeted by the Germans. He tried not to indulge the little voice in the back of his head that said if they did get torpedoed by a U-boat then he might not have to marry Astor.

In the end, they sailed for New York on the 22nd December and, despite some rather rough points, managed to avoid both U-boats and icebergs, docking on the 28th, just in time to celebrate the New Year. A whole evening spent with his fiancé’s family; the prospect hardly filled Ellis with enthusiasm. At the very least there was going to be alcohol, which would make things tolerable and maybe, if they weren’t all as conservative as Astor, he may even manage to get a fuck. Surely, he wasn’t a social pariah here as well as in London.

He wasn’t a social pariah but, in many ways, it was worse than that. His future in-laws were just as conservative as his fiancé and so were all of their friends. It was depressing. New Year’s Eve at the Waldorf-Astoria with the rest of the Astor family in attendance alongside the Rockefeller’s, Andrew Carnegie and the rest of the crème de la crème of New York society and the champagne was flowing but, so were the opinions that omegas belonged in the home popping out pups one after the other and hanging on their alphas every word. It made Ellis sick to the stomach. He was being dragged around the room and shown off as though he were a prize brood-mare and, just, was this to be what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life? They were all treating his journalism as though it was something fun that he was doing to kill time before he got married. None of them seemed to care that he was a published author, that he was prominent in his field.

It was definitely making him wonder if this whole marriage thing was worth it.

By contrast, after America, Australia was a welcome reprieve. Having left Astor behind in New York, Ellis had relished his freedom and had proceeded to celebrate by sleeping with several of the sailors. His arrival in Sydney may not have been what he had been promised – a welcome on the wharf by returned soldiers had been forbidden – but the dinner thrown for him by the Returned Soldiers Association had more than made up for it. they had even presented him with a huge plaque and a letter thanking him for his representation of the Anzac soldiers during the Dardanelles campaign.

It had been at this dinner that he had been introduced to his distraction for the remained of the lecture tour. At least the Australian leg. Pyotr Smirnov. A Russian National whose parents had opposed the Tsarist regime and emigrated from their homeland following the end of the Russo-Japanese war and the revolution. Smirnov was both an alpha and a survivor of the Gallipoli campaign. He was slightly younger than Ellis and rather handsome. He certainly made the lecture tour more bearable as Ellis was, once again, visited by the local military censor who demanded to see and approve Ellis’ lecture before he delivered it. Ellis, contrary as always, had taken great delight in handing over his notes – all 50,000 words – with a sadistic smirk. Unsurprisingly, the major had returned them to a particularly smug Ellis after reading no more than a dozen pages.

Sydney Town Hall had been positively thronged with people, civilians, returned soldiers and prospective recruits alike. Ellis had worked his magic and watched as they hung on his every word, giving him a very warm reception. They had celebrated by taking off to an Italian restaurant run by immigrants and which served the best Italian food Ellis had eaten outside of Italy itself. Excellent food, copious amounts of even better alcohol and possibly slightly excessive flirting considering they were in public ensured that Ellis didn’t go to bed alone that evening. Only, the sex proved not to be as satisfying as it should have been.

Theoretically, it should have been excellent.

Ellis was horny, still not having made up for his extended dry patch during his hospital stay and subsequent trip to the States, while Pyotr was a young, virile alpha in his prime. More than that, he was clearly an experienced lover if the way that he unerringly Ellis’ prostate was anything to go by. Yet, even when he was full to the brim and stretched around Pyotr’s knot, Ellis felt strangely unsatisfied. A shame really, as the alpha had stamina, a gorgeous cock and fucked like a dream. He also didn’t appear to have the same antiquated notion of alphas that most of the people Ellis had been forced into contact with recently seemed to share. The benefit of having Bolshevik revolutionaries as parents; equality for all, even in terms of secondary gender. In that respect, he was a damn sight better than the alpha Ellis was actually engaged to.

Realisation hit Ellis like a tidal wave the last evening of him taking Corporal Smirnov to bed. The alpha had taken them to a hidden bar run by other Bolshevik émigrés down by the docks and Ellis had obviously been in no position to refuse; investigative purposes and all that. The only problem was that, whilst there, Ellis had been given some of the best quality vodka that he had ever drunk and had imbibed a little bit too much. This hadn’t been helped by the fact Smirnov had decided to take control when they finally fell into bed in the early hours of the morning. He teased and tormented Ellis through two orgasms, playing his body until Ellis was delirious with pleasure. When he was finally knotted, Ellis came a third time, dry and with Igor’s name on his lips as his body succumbed to ecstasy and he blacked out.

When he came to, he felt wrung out both physically and emotionally. Smirnov was sat next to him, propped up against the headboard smoking a cigarette.

“Who’s Igor?” His voice was perfectly even, no hint of jealousy, just curiosity.

Even so, Ellis feigned ignorance. “I’m sorry, old chap. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“When I knotted you, it wasn’t my name you called. That is fine. This is just fun. You called out for Igor though. That is a Russian name. A good, strong Russian name. Your fiancé is American, is he not?”

Ellis couldn’t believe it. He had never made such a faux pas in all time he had been sexually active, no matter how many partners he had at any one time. Sitting up, he relished the slight burn in his thighs and arse as he gestured for a cigarette, playing for time as he tried to formulate his thoughts. Had he really been thinking of Stravinsky so much? He hadn’t really been conscious of it given the rapid pace of the Australian leg of his lecture tour but, now that he thought about it properly, Smirnov bore more than a passing resemblance to Stravinsky. The dark coiffed hair, the dark eyes, the stature.

“Yes, my fiancé is American. Igor is…”

“Another lover.”

“A little more complicated than that. Igor is a man that I met on a train. We shared a journey through France last year on my return from the Dardanelles.”

“Must have been some journey. He’s an alpha?”

“We merely conversed. And yes, he’s an alpha. He claims that we’re true mates.”

“And you disagree?”

“I don’t believe in the concept. It’s romantic twaddle peddled for those who don’t know better.”

“Your head may say that, but your heart disagrees.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I’m pining for some alpha that may or may not be my true mate?”

“I am saying that sometimes actions speak louder than words and it may be worth exploring, rather than spending a lifetime with an alpha you neither love nor respect.”

It was eminently sensible advice and absolutely not what Ellis wanted to hear. Bloody concept of true mates. Why was everyone so bloody enamoured with it? Stubbing out his cigarette, he turned over with a huff and tried to go back to sleep for a few hours. Still, when the time came for them to part and Ellis to set off to New Zealand for the final leg of his tour, there were no bad feelings just fond memories. Smirnov had given Ellis an affectionate and socially appropriate hug as he whispered in Ellis’ ear.

“This alpha – this Igor – must be someone special if you’re still thinking of him now. Do yourself a favour and see what happens. If may not be worth exploring but you won’t know unless you try. The alpha/omega true mates pairing is legendary. I wish you all the best, my friend.”

“Thank you. I promise to consider it.”

And consider it Ellis had.

In fact, it seemed as though he had thought of nothing else. He wasn’t pining, he wasn’t. Ellis didn’t do anything as mundane as pine. Except he wasn’t able to think of anyone but Stravinsky for the whole of the New Zealand tour. It was ridiculous. Ellis had never been this distracted by an alpha before. By anyone, be they alpha, omega or beta. By their cock or by how they were in bed, yes, but nothing else. It wasn’t that way with Stravinsky. Instead of just being intrigued by the man’s cock and how he used it, Ellis found himself wondering how the alpha would behave in a relationship, how he would react to Ellis and his inability to be the passive omega that society expected.

It wasn’t helped by the fact that the army colonel who was, for want of a better word, chaperoning him around New Zealand was a bonded alpha. Not only that but he and his partner were true mates as well. Seeing their relationship had opened Ellis’ eyes. Their relationship was nothing like that between his parents or that of anyone else in London society that he was familiar with. Not only was theirs a relationship of true love but it was one of equality. Both of them – alpha and omega – were just as important as the other and it was a revelation. One that gave Ellis plenty of food for thought when he wasn’t actively lecturing. Almost too much.

His New Zealand lectures had been just as well-received as those in Australia but, by the time that he arrived back in London, Ellis had had enough. He needed a distraction and mindless sex – even if he could get it – simply wasn’t going to cut it. The instant that he docked in Liverpool, he was subjected to a long interrogation by the War Office once again. It was infuriating and tedious because all they did was simply re-tread the same conversations over and over again; another ridiculous example of the posturing and bad organisation that had stymied the Dardanelles Campaign. The second that he was released, Ellis headed back to London and straight for the Press Association offices and his former employers.

Lord Burnham had publicly admonished Ellis for being so harsh towards the government but, in private, had told Ellis that he had done an exceptional job and that it was the job of the press to commentate on what they saw and that was exactly what Ellis had done. Ellis had been pleased, because hopefully it would make his boss more amenable to Ellis’ request. It had. Less than an hour after he walked in, Ellis exited the offices onto Fleet Street with his goal achieved; he was off to report on the Western Front.

Hopefully the trenches would distract him from thoughts of Stravinsky.


	4. Chapter 4

Unfortunately, while the trenches did provide some distraction from the enigma that was Igor Stravinsky, they still weren’t enough to make Ellis forget him completely.

If Ellis had thought that the Dardanelles was bad, the Western Front was something else entirely. The carnage was overwhelming and seemingly overwhelming. Ellis had been here reporting on the Western Front for almost a year now and he had lost count of the number of times that the men had been told by top brass that this was it, this was the offensive that would win the war and then they could all go home. It never was. instead, there was just more death and more young men who would never return home on both sides. The Dardanelles had been bad, but it didn’t compare to the Western Front in terms of numbers.

Ellis’ first assignment had been the Battle of the Somme.

That first day was catastrophic with other fifty-seven thousand British dead and, what made things even worse, was that Ellis had to lie about it. He was a journalist, he was used to bending the truth a little, manipulating his words but not this. Not outright lying to the British public. He had refused to do it in the Dardanelles, he refused to do it here. Only, here, the penalties for his refusal were so much higher. A year ago, the worst that would happen was that he was sent home in disgrace. Now, the War Office had decided that any journalists who were overly critical of the government and the war could be court martialled and, at the very extreme, be executed by firing squad. So, he had to put up with an army censer following him around and, not just that, but one who had the authority to use chemicals to detect the use of invisible ink in dispatches.

While Ellis had had a relatively comfortable life in the Dardanelles, living on the island of Imbros with his luxuries and home comforts alongside General Hamilton and other commanders, that was nothing compared to life in France. While the men of the British Army were forced to slum it in the mud and filth of the trenches, the journalists were housed with the military top brass in a variety of French chateaus. The luxury simply felt like more of a gilded cage than anything else given the censorship that they were forced to endure. It was almost as if the War Office was trying to buy their cooperation and silence. It rankled with Ellis. In fact, it rankled so much that he was particularly vocal about it. He knew that what he wrote wouldn’t make it into print – if it made it past the censors – but he couldn’t lie, and he wouldn’t keep silent.

Of course, it ended precisely as he had expected.

Ellis didn’t have the protection of friends in important places anymore, but he was still a member of the aristocracy by dint of birth and that gave him an element of protection. He also had a feeling that his secondary gender also played into the decision of the War Office; bad enough that there was a male omega on the front lines, they absolutely couldn’t be seen to be executing one. Instead of being court martialled and sent home in disgrace, Ellis was permitted to remain but was thrown out of the chateau. If he wanted to remain on the Western Front, then Ellis had no choice but to make his home in the trenches with the soldiers. And that was precisely what he did. Rather than focusing on his criticism of the leadership, as he had done during the Gallipoli campaign, Ellis focused on the conditions being experienced by both the average soldier and himself.

He just about managed to make it work. That didn’t mean that it was easy. Far from it.

 ~*~

Enduring not only the harsh conditions of the Western Front but all of the death and destruction in addition was an exercise in survival. It was gruelling and sapped Ellis of every bit of energy and strength that he had. The soldiers themselves struggled enough but, mostly alphas and betas, they coped better than Ellis and the few omegas that had avoided detection to enlist. He hated bringing his secondary gender into things, particularly when he had always done his best not to in the past. But the truth was that, as an omega, Ellis was not designed to withstand this, especially not for such long sustained periods.

Given that he was employed by the Press Association and not the War Office, Ellis could theoretically leave anytime he wanted. Unlike the Dardanelles, he wasn’t the only British journalist here and he knew that Lord Burnham wouldn’t hold it against him. Ellis would hold it against himself though. And there were plenty of critics that would say that this was what happens when omegas got ideas. When they wanted to be more than just breeders, creatures to keep hearth and home. They would say that just proved that omegas weren’t built to be more than that. Ellis had no intention of letting that happen. He wouldn’t be returning home with his tail between his legs. He would be returning home as the best goddamn war journalist in the country. 

There was one other reason that Ellis refused to leave the front, no matter how grim it became. His engagement. Astor had been unhappy enough that Ellis had left New York to do his lecture tour in Australia and New Zealand, let alone that he had come to France. Then again, Astor wouldn’t be happy until he had Ellis flat on his back in Astor’s bed with a ring on his finger and a pup in his belly. Barefoot, pregnant and willing to do anything his alpha wanted. The very thought rankled. And it still galled Ellis that he hadn’t been able to discover why his fiancé was still unmated and unmarried at his age. He had attempted to make enquiries when he had been in New York but had been shut down every single time. All he was told was that the Astor’s were a wealthy, reputable family and that any omega should count themselves lucky to marry into.

That wasn’t a good enough response for Ellis.

There were too many possibilities. The man could be an alcoholic (and yes, Ellis was very aware of the irony in that) or even violent. That may not be the case but there was no doubt whatsoever that, if he went through with this marriage, then Ellis was guaranteed to spend his time on his back thinking of England with no intelligent conversation whatsoever. And bad sex no doubt. He couldn’t help but compare it to the alpha/omega soulmate relationship that he had seen in New Zealand and the time that he had spent on the train with Stravinsky. In both cases, the omega hadn’t been viewed as less of a person, hadn’t been viewed as inferior or anything of that ilk. They had been treated as an equal and that had been a revelation.

If – and it was a big if – Ellis was to embark upon a relationship, that was he wanted. He wanted equality between himself and his partner. He wanted to be free to do what he wanted, to not be shackled by his partner. Ellis hated to admit it, but Stravinsky’s talk of soulmates became more intriguing with every passing day.

~*~

Amid all of his musings and discoveries, as well as the aftermath of the utter disaster that had been the Battle of the Somme, the creation of the Hindenburg Line and the catastrophic Nivelle Offensive, Ellis found himself moved north to join the Flanders offensive in Belgium. He was the only British journalist moved north and part of him wondered if they were hoping that the Germans would take care of him; particularly after the Somme campaign hadn’t gone as expected and Ellis had written precisely that.

The British offensive was intended to relieve some of the pressure on the French after the Nivelle Offensive hadn’t gone as planned and began with an attempt to retake the ground that had been lost after the First and Second Battles of Messines. It was successful and went precisely as intended. That didn’t mean that it was without casualties but, it was a novelty for the journalists to be able to write relatively positively about what was happening on the Western Front, that only a handful of their words might be attacked by the censors.

It helped that the Allied powers had learnt their lessons from the Somme and adopted a more cautious approach at Messines. The creeping barrage was preceded by the detonation of nineteen mines along the front, all of them blown within nineteen seconds of each other. It was believed that, the detonation resulted in the deaths of 10,000 German soldiers, a crippling result. In its wake came the creeping barrage of artillery, tanks and gas attacks from the new Livens projectors. The Germans attempted to counter-attack but every single one was repulsed until the Allies held the entire Messines salient. Of course, there were still Allied casualties, but they were nothing compared to those suffered by the Germans.

What Ellis wasn’t expecting in the hours after the battle was to hear that there was an Australian soldier looking for him and to see Charlie Hodson coming down the line. He had taken the alpha to his bed a couple of times in the Dardanelles and he hadn’t realised that the man had survived and been reassigned to the Western Front.

“Mr Ash!”

“Charlie! What are you doing here?”

“The buggers at the AIF didn't think we'd seen enough at bloody Gallipoli, so they sent us over here. There's no time for that now though, Mr Ash. It’s Mr Schuler.”

Ellis was a little taken aback.

Phillip Schuler. The Australian alpha who hadn’t been the official correspondent but had made it to the Dardanelles alongside his lover and fellow alpha, Charles Bean. Ellis had heard on the grapevine that, after the Gallipoli campaign, Schuler had returned to Australia to complete his basic training before joining the AIF as a driver. Ellis hadn’t realised that he was in Flanders though. And certainly not in Messines.

“What about him?”

“He was injured in the battle, sir. Badly. They … um, they don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

Ellis’ heart clenched. He had liked Schuler when he had known him, and he didn’t like the idea of him lying injured in a field hospital alone but for the overstretched staff.

“Bean?” Ellis might not have said anything about their relationship, but it hadn’t been difficult to discover that the relationship between the two Australian journalists was common knowledge. Soldiers could be worse than the Women’s Institute when it came to gossip. Bean was also here on the Western Front with the AIF, but in a completely different capacity.

“We’ve sent a message, but he’s down the line and we don’t know if he’ll get here in time.”

“Righto, lead the way, Charlie.”

 (~*~)

By the time Ellis arrived, it materialised that Schuler hadn’t been moved to a field hospital. Instead, he was still at the Casualty Clearing Station. It wasn’t difficult to see that Schuler had been badly injured. There were wounds to his left arm, face, throat and right leg. When Ellis had arrived, Phillip had been dosed with morphine and his wounds treated with carbolic lotion and bipped but nothing more. Looking at the wounds that he had received, Ellis wasn't sure if there was anything more that could be done. It was quite clear that it was going to be touch and go as to whether he would make it to a field hospital. Schuler was vaguely coherent, but it was quite clearly not good.

Everything was an assault on his senses, more so than the trenches. The stench of death and disease was overwhelming, as were the feelings of fear and resignation. There were countless men dying, others were injured and many of them, little more than boys, were crying out for their mothers. Ellis hadn't been much older than them when he had fought in the Boer War, but it had been a different kind of war back then and they didn't belong here. They belonged in the schoolroom.

Just as they didn't belong there, neither did Phillip Schuler. When he had been in Sydney, Ellis had met plenty of people who knew the young alpha and they had all described him in the same manner; personable, vivacious and someone who was going to do great things one day. That day was never going to come now, and Ellis felt saddened by the fact that they would never see what Schuler could have done.

Ellis wasn’t good at comforting people, he never had been. However, he did his best to be as comforting as possible. He hated that his attempts could be described as feeble at best. Ellis had always been so determined to never become a stereotypical omega that he had never bothered to cultivate traditional omegan traits. As such, his nurturing abilities - which would be incredibly useful right now - were almost zero. All he could do was hold Schuler’s hand and release as many omega pheromones as he could in an attempt to help calm the man down, whilst trying not to shudder at the waves of fear and pain that rolled off Schuler.

In the end, Bean made it in time but only just given that Schuler’s breath had already started to rattle in his chest. For the first time since Ellis’ arrival, Schuler relaxed, and Ellis happily relinquished his place at the beside to the other alpha. He wanted to turn away, to give them so privacy for their last few moments together but he couldn’t turn his eyes away. He only looked away hours later when Bean let out an unholy howl of grief and Ellis had to wipe the tears from his eyes.

The so-called Great War had claimed another casualty.

 ~*~

Watching Schuler die had changed something for Ellis. Between the Boer War, the Dardanelles and now the Western Front, Ellis had seen plenty of men die, but this had been different somehow. Maybe because Ellis had known Schuler as well as he knew anyone. Maybe because Bean had been there, and Ellis had witnessed his grief. Had seen the overwhelming loss take control, the way that Bean had shut down. How, despite the fact that their love was forbidden, illegal, Bean hadn’t hidden it, had done all he could to give his love comfort at the end. It made Ellis think of Igor. Of his fiancé.

France had been a bit different compared to the Dardanelles and, even though Ellis was an obviously available omega, sex had been far from everyone’s minds. Even Ellis’. Suppressants took care of everything that a lack of desire didn’t. Ellis had received a couple of letters from his fiancé but had wondered why the man had bothered. They simply reiterated everything that Ellis had heard before. That Ellis needed to come home and get on with preparations for their wedding, give up on his career and what he loved doing. Not for the first time, Ellis wondered if Igor would react the same as Astor to not just what Ellis was doing but Ellis himself. He had the feeling not.

Ellis would absolutely deny that he was pining for the Russian composer, but he couldn’t deny that, ever since his return from New Zealand, his thoughts had been lingering on the man more and more. The man who was in the same country as Ellis but might as well be a world away. Ellis couldn’t help but wonder how Paris had been affected by the war, what Igor was doing, if his life had been affected. If he was thinking about Ellis at all.

His thoughts didn’t just linger on the man, but on Ellis’ situation as well.

Ellis had always been an uncommon omega and he prided himself on that. So, why had he agreed to this farce of an engagement to an alpha who had made it perfectly clear that he would do everything he could to curtail Ellis’ freedoms once they were married. He was engaged to a man he didn’t respect, he didn’t find attractive and that he didn’t even like. Meanwhile, somewhere out there – further south – was an alpha who claimed to be Ellis’ soulmate. An alpha who was devilishly handsome and, for the brief time they had spent together, had listened to and respected Ellis’ opinions.  He had seen Bean and Schuler enjoy true happiness together despite the obstacles against them for their secondary gender and the fact that they were in an arena of war, only to have it snatched away. If they could have that, why couldn’t he? In an uncommonly sentimental move for him, Ellis swore that he would do something about his situation when he was away from here. Whether or not that included the possibility of Igor Stravinsky, he wasn’t yet sure, but he would be lying if he said that the prospect didn’t disinterest him.

And then the Allied Powers announced the latest offensive; the Third Battle of Ypres and Ellis was assigned to cover the action of British and Anzac divisions near the tiny village of Passchendaele.

By this point in the war, Ellis had experienced and witnessed unimaginable horrors. Trench warfare, personal injury, death of colleagues, gas attacks, shelling, machine gun fire and sheer bloody, futile slaughter. He didn’t think there was anything left.

He was wrong.

Passchendaele had been deemed important due to its proximity to Ypres and the German supply lines. Allied Powers believed that, if they captured Passchendaele Ridge, then they stood a chance of striking a blow to the German forces.

The rain derailed their plans.

It had been a long, dry September but October ushered in seemingly never-ending rain. The rain and the ensuing mud made moving all but impossible and that was even without the barrage of German artillery-fire raining down on them. As the British offensive was postponed until the weather improved, Ellis decided to follow the two Anzac divisions. It didn’t take him long to regret his decision. The battle of Poelcapelle had been brutal but that was nothing compared to the attempt to take Passchendaele Ridge. The New Zealand advance was hindered by both barbed wire and machine gun barrages from the German pillboxes, while the Australians captured the Keiberg cutting, only to be immediately engaged by German field and heavy artillery.

As the Anzac advance broke the front between Passchendaele and the Keiberg spur, the bombardment increased so that it now included artillery, machine-gun and sniper fire, simply obliterating the Anzac troops as Ellis watched in horror. Ellis froze in shock as the soldier next to him fell to the ground with a bullet between the eyes. He was still firmly of the opinion that this needed to be reported on, but he very much needed to be not be here right now. Ellis had reached the end of what he could deal with. It wasn’t because he was an omega; he had done everything that the alpha journalists had done and more. He dared anyone who criticised him for his secondary gender to do what he had done. It was because there was only so much of this that anyone could take, be they alpha, beta or omega.

Not even the soldiers huddled for safety in shell-holes were safe, the German machine-gunners aiming for the crater lips which the bullets penetrated easily. The Anzac troops attempted to return fire but were hampered by wet and dirty ammunition, while a significant number of guns were simply stuck in the mud. An attempt at a German gas attack was made alongside the ongoing high-explosive bombardment but the pouring rain managed to derail the worst of it, while gas masks dealt with the rest.

And then the howitzers started.

Ellis hated them the most out of every single type of artillery. Not that it was possible to like a piece of artillery. These were the worst though. The sound that the shells made as they soared through the air sounded like someone screaming. With the number of shells in the air, it was as though countless people were screaming at the same time only it was worse because you knew that some of those screams belonged to real men who were wounded or dying. And then the screams seemed to be so much closer and, as Ellis realised that there was a howitzer shell headed straight for him, he tried to run but couldn’t get anywhere, his feet sticking in the mud.

The ground shook beneath him and Ellis felt a searing pain in his stomach, even as his ears rang from the sound of the explosion. After three years of war, his luck had finally run out. The last thought that Ellis had before the agony caused him to pass out in the mud was the regret that, if this was the end, he hadn’t had a chance to do what he had promised himself he would; change his situation.


	5. Chapter 5

When Ellis awoke, it was to the realisation that he was in a field hospital. If the colour of the canvas above him didn't give it away, the overwhelming scent of blood and disinfectant combined with cries of pain did. Not only was he in a field hospital, but _he_ was in serious amounts of pain. Everything was a little fuzzy. He didn't know what day it was, how long he'd been there and what was actually wrong with him. He craned his neck but couldn't see much beyond a sea of khaki, so tried to use his core muscles to sit up a little more.

It was a mistake. The biggest mistake.

Sheer agony lanced through him and he fell back the few inches that he had managed with a strangled scream. Even once he'd stopped actively trying to move, waves of incredible pain - more than he'd ever felt before - continued to wash over him, radiating from his abdomen. Well, that gave him a clue as to where he was injured. And then, he remembered.

He remembered Passchendaele Ridge. The rain, barbed wire and unrelenting mud that they battled through, only to be greeted by heavy artillery, machine-gun fire and sniper fire. The attempted gas attacks by the German troops that were only thwarted by the rain. And then the howitzers. The screaming of the shells combining with the screaming of the wounded. The utter terror as Ellis realised that one of the dreaded howitzer shells was heading straight for him. The realisation that all of the rain had turned the ground into a bog that Ellis was not going to be able to escape. The searing pain in his stomach.

As the memories came flooding back, Ellis was lost in them, completely unaware as his surroundings faded to take him back to that night. He flailed, tossing and turning as he tried to fight through the mud and escape the shells, struggling against the arms that tried to keep him still.

“Sir, sir, please, calm down. You’re safe, you need to try and remain still so you don’t pull your stitches. Sir, please.”

When the voice finally penetrated his panic, Ellis started to calm down. His pulse was still racing, his chest straining as he struggled to breathe, and his abdomen hurt even more. When he could finally focus, Ellis opened his eyes to see a reasonably pretty blue eyed, dark-haired young woman – a beta if he wasn’t mistaken - standing over him in a mid-blue dress, a white apron emblazoned with a red cross and her hair covered with a white cap tied in a handkerchief style.

“Sir, I’m VAD Kitty Hayes. Can you tell me your name?”

“E-Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett.”

“Good, thank you. How are you feeling?”

“In pain. Serious bloody amounts of pain. Can you give me anything?”

The young woman looked conflicted. “I don't know, I'm sorry. I'm not a proper nurse, just a VAD; I only finished my training last week and arrived yesterday. I'll check with the sister and come back to you.”

He craned his neck, breathing through the pain, as his nurse – Kitty – made her way over to an older woman wearing a darker blue dress with a different style of white cap and spoke with her. The woman that she returned with was unmistakeably an alpha. With dark hair and eyes, there was a sense of no-nonsense about her that Ellis appreciated more than anything.

“Mr Ashmead-Bartlett? I’m Sister Peters. Let’s get your pain under control.”

The sister’s movements were quick and economical, less than a minute after her words, Ellis felt a prick in the crook of his elbow and then the feeling of cool liquid flowing through his veins.

“There we go, the opiates will start working soon. Now, what did VAD Hayes tell you, Mr Ashmead-Bartlett?”

“Not a lot. Where am I?”

“No 32 CCS Brandhoek. We’re the most important Advanced Abdominal Centre on the Western Front. You were brought here from the advanced dressing station at Essex Farm when they realised the extent of your injuries. Surgeon Major Dean operated as soon as you arrived but wanted to wait until you regained consciousness before you were moved further.”

“Operated?”

Ellis knew that it wasn’t good news when Sister Peters sat by his bedside and took one of his hands in hers. “I know this won’t be easy, but you need to remain as calm as possible while I speak; we’ve been concerned that it’s taken you longer to come around from anaesthesia and the surgery than we would have liked. The campaign at Passchendaele started five days ago and you were brought here three days ago with severe abdominal trauma as a result from flying shrapnel. At the moment, we don’t know how long you were lying in the crater where you were found and there was – there still is – a worry of infection. You were immediately brought here after assessment at Essex Farm and rushed into surgery immediately. Surgeon Major Dean is one of the best surgeons on the Western Front and he operated on you personally.

Mr Ashmead-Bartlett, Ellis, your wounds were all to your lower torso. Primarily to your abdomen. It’s well-publicised that you’re an omega. There’s no easy way for me to say those so I’m not going to try. Surgeon Major Dean did everything that he could but there was no avoiding it; he had to remove parts of your reproductive organs in order to keep you alive. Not everything was affected but, there is no knowing what damage remains. There … there may be a chance that you will not be able to conceive pups in the future. Future surgeries may be necessary. There will also inevitably be considerable scarring, in addition to those that you already bear.

I’m sorry that I don’t have better news for you. We did everything that we could but, given the conditions, we were limited.”

Ellis went to speak but flinched as several shells screeched overhead, immediately followed by the returning fire of heavy artillery, presumably their own.

“The shells…”

“We’re safe enough from the shells. We’re relatively close to the railway at Poperinghe so they’re constant, but we’ve only taken one or two direct hits since July and we haven’t lost any of the medical staff. You don’t worry about that. You just focus on yourself. Now, we’ll give the drugs a bit of time to work and then we’ll get you fed up a bit. They’re going to want to get you back to England as quickly as possible, so we need to pull you through. Porridge first, I think, then champagne and eggs if you stomach it well enough.”

Her no-nonsense nature was reassuring to an extent, but Ellis was still reeling from the news that he’d been given.

Major abdominal trauma. The partial removal of his reproductive organs. Considerable scarring.

Ellis had always considered him to be more than his secondary gender. More than just an incubator for pups. However, the knowledge that he might not be able to conceive pups – the ones that he had been so sure up until now that he didn’t want – was a little hard to stomach.

It was definitely going to have a considerable impact upon his life. One that he wasn’t completely sure of the ramifications yet. 

~*~

The arrival of Sir Ellis and Lady Frances Ashmead-Bartlett had been known long before they actually arrived on the ward of the Princess Christian Hospital where Ellis had been deposited. Situated in Grosvenor Place, it was officially a hospital for officers only, but Lord Burnham had pulled some strings and guaranteed Ellis a place there, rather than in one of several mental hospitals across London that had been commandeered for extra beds given the sheer number of wounded returning from the front. That didn’t matter to Ellis’ parents though; this wasn’t the type of place that their son should be in and definitely not the type of place that they should be seen. Their grumbling that this was unsuitable for someone of their lineage was clearly audible and Ellis was utterly mortified.

Ellis was more than aware of his parent’s snobbery – had been for a long time – and he knew that he had inherited some of it. However, he was very much aware of the incredible job that the nurses and the VAD’s were doing for the war wounded and he couldn’t believe that his parents were ignoring that, ignoring the fact that these people were the ones who had guaranteed Ellis’ survival. A survival that seemed to be neither here nor there to Sir Ellis if the way that he behaved was anything to go by.

“Well, boy, what’s the prognosis?”

“It’s good to see you too, Father. It’s been a long time.”

“Don’t beat around the bush, boy. I have an engagement at the club to get to and your mother has a meeting.”

“Ah yes, god forbid that your invalided son get in the way of your social engagements. I won’t keep you any longer than necessary. I know you were appalled by my decision to accept the appointment by the National Press Association to report on the Dardanelles Campaign and then to go to the Western Front. Well, Father, I’m sure you’ll be even more horrified to hear that, as a result of my decisions and my subsequent injuries, they’re unsure whether I’ll ever be able to conceive. If I am, they don’t know if I’ll be able to carry them to term. Congratulations, Father. Not only do you have an uncommon omega as a son, you have a defective one as well.”

The words took almost all of the strength that Ellis had, and the reaction was exactly as he had predicted. His mother practically swooned whilst his father turned a puce colour and blustered as he did best.

“I refuse to believe it. What do those army quacks know? You’ll see Sir George for a diagnosis and once he’s seen you, we’ll make a decision on how we proceed from there.”

Sir George Kingston was the family physician, based in Harley Street and about eighty years old. He had no concept whatsoever of omegas and hadn’t kept up with advancements in medicine in at least the last two decades. The man was a fossil. And this was a man that Ellis’ father had a better opinion of than battlefield medics? Really, it made him despair. This was why the aristocracy of England was as it was; inbred and completely without insight and intelligence. Ellis was certain that the man wouldn’t say anything different to the army doctors but was willing to go ahead with it if it would shut his father up.

 (~*~)

As Ellis had expected, his fiancé made an appearance the day after Ellis’ parents, blowing into the ward like a summer storm. He had suffered through a humiliating examination by Sir George Kingston where, precisely as Ellis had expected, the elderly alpha had shown his lack of understanding about omegas and proceeded to announce what the army surgeon had said; the scarring from Ellis’ injuries was extensive and would never improve but, more than that, the surgery needed to save Ellis’ life necessitated that he would in all likelihood never bear pups. Kingston had obviously delivered the news to his parents who, in turn, had informed his fiancé. Judging by the expression on Astor’s face, that wouldn’t be the right appellation for him for too long.

“I had a visit from your father this morning. Is it true?”

“So delightful to see you again, William. Is what true?”

“The news that your foolish globe-trotting, your insistence on having to be different and trying to be more than you are, you’ve gone and ruined yourself. Your father said that scarred for life and that you’re now likely infertile, incapable of conceiving and carrying pups.”

Despite the overwhelming desire to argue against Astor’s prehistoric notion of omegas, Ellis simply didn’t have the energy. He just wanted this over with. “Yes, it’s true.”

“Consider this the end of our engagement. If I have to marry, then I certainly won’t be marrying a defective omega. I hope your choices were worth it, for who will want to marry you now?”

That was it. No fanfare, just three simple sentences. There didn’t need to be anymore. The words hit hard, slipping into Ellis’ heart like a sword and twisting sinuously around his brain. As William Astor departed the Princess Christian Hospital with a swirl of coattails and the click of his perfectly polished shoes on the tiles, Ellis curled himself up as best he could and closed his eyes.

Considering that he had what he wanted and was a free man once more, why did he feel so wretched?

~*~

Recovery was arduous.

Ellis already knew that from his previous experiences of war, but this was worse.

Due to the nature of his injuries, he wasn't allowed back on suppressants either. Heat suppressants were a relatively new scientific discovery, definitely within the last fifty years, if not within thirty years. As such, they were still running tests as they weren't completely certain of the effects that they could have on the human body. They were categorically clueless as to the effect that they could have on a body that had gone through as much trauma as Ellis’. The only thing that they did know was that omegas weren't supposed to take heat suppressants for an extended length of time; several months was considered to be the maximum. So, all of the medical professionals were horrified to hear that Ellis had been taking his for the best part of two years and he had been subjected to so many lectures that he could practically repeat them verbatim.

After the encounter with his family and the subsequent breakdown of his engagement, Ellis had wasted no time in discharging himself from the hospital and returning home. He had a beta housekeeper by the name of Joan Trevelyan who had been with him for years. Joan had been putting up with his antics and his dalliances ever since he had had a home of his own, and she was more than capable of dealing with him while he was incapacitated. She was more capable of dealing with him than his parents and he was a damn sight fonder of her than he was of them. More so as she had visited him and unceremoniously announced that she had a sister – Ellen – who was looking for work. Said sister was also a beta, who had served as a nurse in the Boer War - Princess Christian's Army Nursing Service Reserve (PCANSR). Apparently, Ellen had offered her services on the Western Front but had been dismissed as too old, so had been volunteering at the First London General Hospital in Camberwell. However, given that Ellis’ injuries were severe enough to need specialised care, at least initially, she was willing to come and help. Would relish the challenge by all accounts.

Physically, Ellis knew that he was improving. Every day, he could walk that little bit further, his wounds ached a little less and the scars faded a little more. His mental recovery was something completely different.

Of course, it didn’t help that he had developed something of a reliance upon cocaine as pain relief. Not from his physical wounds though, but as mental solace. Trying to stop his thoughts from running riot. It wasn’t even as though he was doing anything illegal; it was sold over the counter in Harrods of all places, along with morphine and syringes. Miss Ellen disapproved, as did Joan. They both complained that he wasn’t eating or sleeping enough. They were right, of course; he wasn’t. The thing was, while the cocaine/morphine combination may dull his appetites, it also dulled his mind which was what he needed more than anything. He needed something to stop his brain from telling him that he was now worthless.

He had never wanted to be one of those omegas that birthed pups and did sod all else. He had always wanted a career and to be more than just the sum of his secondary gender but, at what cost? Now that, in all probability he couldn’t have pups, he couldn’t help but think what if? What if he could have had pups? What lay ahead for him now?

And that, inevitably, brought him back to Igor Stravinsky.

 ~*~

The last person that Ellis expected to see as he made his way down Harley Street after yet another unsatisfactory meeting with his physician was one particular alpha Russian composer. Not only was Igor Stravinsky the last person that Ellis had expected to see, he was the last person that he wanted to see. When they met on that train journey through France, Igor had been captivated by Ellis, convinced that they were true mates. Yet, who Ellis was now was a shadow of his former self. Both in physique and spirit. He tugged on Ellen’s arm, hoping that if they went a little quicker they could avoid detection. Alas, he was not in luck.

“Mr Ashmead-Bartlett!”

The temptation to just keep walking and pretend that Ellis hadn’t heard Stravinsky above the hustle and bustle of the London street was overwhelming but, almost before Ellis could blink, Stravinsky was stood there in front of him giving a stupidly courtly bow that Ellis found charming despite himself.

“Mr Ashmead-Bartlett, I was unsure if you had heard me. I am Igor Stravinsky, I do not know if you recollect our…”

“Yes, I remember who you are.”

“Good, good. Please forgive me my … forwardness, but you do not look well. Should you be out? Is your fiancé not around?”

“I am an omega, not an incompetent, Maestro Stravinsky. A little illness does not prevent me from functioning. And no, my fiancé is not around because we are no longer engaged.”

“I did not mean to imply that you were incompetent. And I am sorry to hear that.”

“Yes, well. Nobody wants a deformed omega that is incapable of serving their purpose.” Ellis couldn’t hide the bitterness in his voice.

“I do not understand. What are you talking about?”

Seriously, how did the man look so attractive when he was confused? Ellis shook his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Don’t think any more about it.”

“Do not say that, please. I told you that we would meet again, I hadn’t expected it to be in such circumstances. Please, you are my родственная душа, I am concerned for you. I am staying at The Savoy; have dinner with me this evening, I can reserve a private room.”

Ellis wanted to demur, to refuse, afraid of what might happen regardless of how much he desperately wanted to go. He had spent too long dreaming of Stravinsky, curious about him but Ellis was very aware of how much he had changed since their last encounter. To his horror, he heard Ellen accepting for him and making the arrangements for them to meet before ushering Ellis into a nearby cab.

“Ellen, what was that about? How could you accept a dinner invitation on my behalf?”

“Because, Sir, you need to go to that dinner. Were you aware that you talk a lot during your nightmares? The name that you mention most often is his. That mans. My sister’s told me a lot over the years about you and we both know that you weren’t happy with that bloody American. Maybe you can be happy with him, the foreign gentleman.”

“He’s married, Ellen.”

“But he thinks you are his soul mate. I may not speak whatever language he spoke but that’s what he said, isn’t it?”

“Yes, he thinks we’re true mates, but I don’t believe in them. And besides, with what the doctors say…”

“And you know that I don’t believe what the doctors say. Please, Sir. Just go for dinner. Listen to what he has to say; there’s no harm in that.”

“Very well, I suppose you’re right. I suppose we should get Joan to prepare my evening dress.”

 (~*~)

Several hours later, Ellis hovered nervously outside of the private dining room that he had been shown to. This was awfully uncharacteristic of him but then there was so much anticipation heaped upon this one meeting. He just wished that he looked more presentable; his evening dress was pristine, and he was perfectly groomed as always yet, due to his injuries, his recovery and his dependence on the cocaine/morphine combination, his pallor was heightened, and the once perfectly tailored suit hung from his frame.

No, this was ridiculous. He may be an omega, he may have been injured but he was Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett. He had survived reporting on the Dardanelles, he had survived a sinking ship and the Western Front. He wasn’t going to be beaten and cowed by an alpha who claimed to be his soul mate. Squaring his shoulders, Ellis pushed open the door and entered, the alpha rising from the table as soon as he did.

“Mr Ashmead-Bartlett! Ellis.”

“Hello, Igor.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Hello Igor.”

It hadn’t been possible to detect on the busy London street with all of the myriad smells around them, but here, in this private room, the scent of Igor was overwhelming. It was just as good, just as tantalising as it had been that day in the train carriage. The deeper than normal alpha scent tinged with ink, cigarette smoke, sandalwood and something more exotic that he hadn’t detected before; myrrh, perhaps? He inhaled as deeply as he could whilst still attempting to be discrete but, judging by the slight quirk of Stravinsky’s lips, he had failed.

Ellis remained by the door, rooted in place as Igor approached. Just as he had when they had bid their farewell on the train, Stravinsky didn’t simply shake Ellis’ hand. Once he had shaken it, he raised it to his lips to kiss the knuckles before scenting the inside of Ellis’ wrist. “I had wondered if you would not come. I had feared it; you did not seem best pleased to see my earlier.”

“I nearly didn’t. Come, I mean.” Ellis didn’t admit that it had taken the combined efforts of both Joan and Ellen to get him ready and then even more coaxing to get him into the cab when he had glanced in the mirror and barely recognised the omega he saw there. When he had been deposited at the Savoy, he had stood outside for the best part of half an hour as he gathered his courage; something that was not normally an issue. Then again, Igor Stravinsky was hardly an everyday occurrence. Ellis had ruthlessly ignored the part of his brain that had whispered the alpha could be.

“Well, I am very glad that you did.”

Ellis allowed himself to be ushered across the room and into a seat at the table, whereupon he was offered a glass of champagne that he accepted almost too eagerly. It was only as Stravinsky moved to open the bottle that Ellis realised, through all of this, Stravinsky had been holding his hand. With any other alpha, Ellis knew that he would have found the action presumptuous and patronising yet, with Stravinsky, he found it oddly reassuring. So much so that, when Stravinsky retook his seat and Ellis’ hand once he had handed Ellis one of the champagne flutes, Ellis voiced no complaint.

“I could not believe my luck when I saw you this afternoon. Yet, I fear that it is no pleasurable thing that keeps you in this city.”

“Why would you say that?”

“You do not look in good health and your scent is not what it was. It has a … ah, the word is acerbe. I do not remember it in English.”

“Acerbe? Ah, sour?”

“Yes, that is it. Your scent has a sour edge to it. One that was not there before.”

Ellis’ curiosity got the better of him. “How do I usually smell?”

The smell that stretched across Stravinsky’s lips would normally have Will wet and he couldn’t help but curse his still recovering body. The mind was willing, oh-so-willing, but the body wasn’t quite there yet. “Not like any other omega scent I’ve ever experienced.”

Ellis couldn’t help but preen a little at that. He was glad he wasn’t the same as all of the other identikit omegas, and then he quickly turned his attention back to Stravinsky, realising that he had continued talking.

“You smell sweet but honeyed, not the usual cloying floral smell most omegas have. Woody, like oud. It’s mixed with carbon paper, cigarette smoke and the, umm, the what is the word? Ah, yes, typewriter ribbon.”

Ellis had never really been aware of his own scent, never really given it much thought. A couple of lovers had commented that it was pleasant if unusual and that had been that. It was quite nice to know the details, even if it was slightly tainted by recent events. Still, he did not want to dwell on that. He took a mouthful of champagne and changed the subject, asking the question he had been pondering all day.

“What are you doing in London? You were the last person I expected to see this morning.”

“I have been contracted by the Aeolian Company to do some recording work for them. I had hoped that I might run into you, but I had not expected to be so fortunate just days after arriving in London.”

They mostly discussed work while they ate, diverging onto different topics every now and then. It was the most satisfying conversation that Ellis had had in a long time and served as a reminder why Ellis had been so intrigued by the alpha. Igor was engaging, quick witted and genuinely interested in what Ellis had to say. Igor's work took up the first part of the conversation but, when they made it to Ellis’, there were no demeaning comments as to how an omega shouldn't be doing work of that nature but, instead, genuine admiration for what Ellis was doing, at his bravery. The approval sent warmth bubbling through Ellis.

And then, as dessert arrived, so did the question that Ellis had been both expecting and dreading. At least the excellent chocolate tart would soften the blow somewhat.

“When we met earlier, you said that your fiancé had broken off your engagement. You referred to yourself as deformed. Why would you do that?”

“Because according to him, that is what I am. As I said when we first met, my esteemed parents chose him for me. William Astor is a rich alpha from a family prominent in New York society. He is also an incredibly old-fashioned, conservative alpha who is of the opinion that omegas belong in the home, not out in the world. He barely tolerated my work and whilst the minor injury I received in the Dardanelles was bad enough, but France was the final straw.

I told you that I was reporting in France. The truth is that I was on the Western Front, on the frontlines. I started on the Somme before I was moved north, to Belgium.”

Ellis could feel the horror emanating from Igor but he continued talking. “One of my former colleagues from the Dardanelles was killed in action at Messines, his alpha was further down the line and made it just in time. I was reporting on the offensive at Passchendaele Ridge. The conditions were appalling. A howitzer landed near me and I was hit by shrapnel when it exploded. I don't remember anything more but when I woke up, it was in a field hospital and I was told that the surgeons had been forced to operate given my severe abdominal wounds. It was necessary for them to remove parts of my reproductive organs in order to ensure my survival.

I have been left with extensive scarring, to add to that which I already carried from actions on the Boer War. Furthermore, several doctors have confirmed that they do not know if I will be able to conceive. If, by some miracle, I am then they cannot say if I will be able to carry the pups to term. Thus, I was no longer an eligible prospect for marriage.”

“He broke off your engagement on a possibility?”

“In his opinion - one that is shared by my father - what good is an omega that cannot bear pups?”

“An omega is so much more than their ability to create life. The body is an exceptional thing and an omegan body no less so. Doctors do not know everything. I am not your William Astor. He is no alpha. No alpha of worth would behave so. I have hoped for this opportunity but had not expected to have the good fortune to pursue it. Ellis, it is my wish to court you, irrelevant of what you have told me. The only question that remains is whether you will permit me to do so.”

Despite his head screaming for caution, Ellis decided to go with instinct. “Yes, I will permit you to court me.”

~*~

Being courted was something that Ellis had absolutely no clue about. He had never experienced it, never been interested in it; his priority had been more getting into bed and having sex than being paraded around, giving off the impression that he was some demure, obedient omega when he was actually anything but. That being said, even if he had been accustomed to courting, he had the feeling that being courted by Igor Stravinsky was something else entirely.

The things that they did were perfectly normal, and as expected by the rest of the ton, nothing out of the ordinary in the slightest. Gifts were delivered to Ellis’ home like clockwork. Fine wine and champagne, cashmere scarves that matched Ellis’ eyes, delectable chocolates, French cigarettes and some of the most beautiful flowers Ellis had ever seen. They had certainly had Joan and Ellen cooing. There had even been sheets of handwritten manuscript, dedicated to Ellis. They went for walks in Hyde Park, for lunch at the Ritz. For quieter lunches in the privacy of the Connaught when Ellis couldn’t face the stares and the whispers, knowing that these people were friends and acquaintances of his parents and would undoubtedly be reporting back. One evening when Ellis felt stronger, they went dancing at the Berkeley where Igor was fawned over but shunned them all in favour of Ellis. That had been the evening when Ellis had finally admitted something to himself; he wanted Igor Stravinsky.

He had thought of the composer plenty since their first meeting but it had always been a little abstract. It had been in terms of the whole soulmate thing, it had been comparing Stravinsky to William Astor and it had been thinking of Igor as Ellis fingered himself to orgasm. Yet, not once had Ellis admitted that he wanted Igor. And as more than just a horny omega needing an alpha’s cock.

Wrapped in Igor’s arms in a slightly shadowed corner of the Berkeley’s dance floor, Ellis couldn’t deny that this felt right in a way that no other encounter with an alpha had. He felt as though he belonged and, although he absolutely hated to admit it, there may have been some truth in Igor’s talk of soulmates. Not that he would admit that publicly though.

No, what was different about being courted by Igor was the intensity of it all. Ellis may not have been courted before, but he had seen plenty of them and mocked nearly all of them. Oh, there was no doubt that some of the courting he had seen had been between couples genuinely in love with each other but, in aristocratic circles, arranged marriages and political matches were more likely. As such, any courting was done under sufferance. More because it was expected than it was desired.

With Igor, that couldn't be further from the truth. He was doing this because nothing would please him more. When they were together, every single scrap of his attention was on Ellis whether it was listening to him talk or simply observing him. It was intense, almost to the point of overwhelming, and it took Ellis a while to grow accustomed to it. Once he had? Well, it was a heady sensation and Ellis revelled in it.

Day by day, Ellis found he used a little bit less of the cocaine/morphine mixture. He ate a little more and slept a little more, much to the delight of Joan and Ellen, and generally felt a little bit more like himself. And each day he fell a little bit more for Igor Stravinsky. To his chagrin, this was apparently all too clear to the two sisters who cared for him. As far as they were concerned, Igor Stravinsky was one of the best things to ever have been created. Indeed, they were both very vocal about the fact that, in their opinion, Ellis needed to get over himself and admit that he and Igor were soulmates and belonged together. Every time they broached the subject he threatened them with dismissal for their impertinence, but he couldn’t deny that the prospect of Stravinsky was looking more and more appealing with every passing day.

The only problem was that Ellis still wasn’t getting any cock and he couldn’t understand why. Igor wanted him. there was no doubting the bulge in his perfectly tailored trousers and Ellis definitely wanted him; as his health improved, his libido was also starting to make a reappearance. Yet, despite the number of dinners that they had in the Savoy where Igor was staying, not once did Ellis receive an invitation up to the alpha’s room. Ellis found it equal parts charming and frustrating; charming that Igor felt enough for Ellis that he wanted to do the courtship properly and frustrating in that Ellis was as far from being a virginal omega as possible.

It was some four weeks into Stravinsky’s courtship of him that Ellis realised he was in trouble. More so than he was already. Physically, he was feeling the best that he had for a while. His scars still pulled if he moved in a certain way but they weren’t an angry red anymore and Joan no longer tutted at the way his suits hung off his frame. He had felt a little jittery that morning, almost as though there were a buzzing beneath his skin but he had brushed it aside, attributing it to anticipation of the day ahead, as Igor had invited him to a private concert at the Aeolian Hall near Bond Street.

Ellis hadn’t even been aware that the place existed until Igor had told him about it. It was perfectly pleasant, even if it didn’t have the cachet of Wigmore Hall or the intimidating grandeur of the Royal Albert Hall. One thing it did have was Igor Stravinsky sat at the keyboard. Ellis watched, utterly enraptured as the long fingers danced over the ivories, teasing melodies from them that Ellis recognised as well as others that he didn’t, but which touched him nonetheless. And then there were excerpts from Rite, with its primitive edge that awakened something in Ellis’ blood and reignited the buzzing beneath his skin. He was just considering how it would feel if Igor’s fingers caressed his bare skin as they did the piano keys. As he did so, he felt the smallest bit of slick leak into his undergarments, the first true time since his injuries and, all of a sudden, Ellis could name the sensation he had been experiencing.

Pre-heat.

He had been on suppressants for so long that he had failed to recognise the symptoms. There was no mistaking it now though. A couple of days at the most and Ellis was going to be in full-blown heat. Not just that, but it was going to be bad enough that he wouldn’t just be able to ride it out with toys, he was going to need an alpha.

Ellis eyed the podium with its grand piano speculatively. He could go for an alpha that he had previously enjoyed carnal relations with - if any of them would give him the time of day - of course. Tried and tested and all that rot. Or, he could give Igor a trial run.

The alpha was attractive, hung like a horse from what Ellis could ascertain and he thought the world of Ellis for some reason. Ellis had taken far worse alphas to bed. It wasn’t even as though the prospect of asking was daunting or awkward; Ellis had invited more than a few alphas to share his heat with him in the past. Stravinsky could either say yes or no. If he said no, that was that. If he said yes, well, they spent several days fucking like rabbits. Worst case scenario, Igor said yes and he was bloody awful in bed, in which case Ellis would simply have no compunction about telling him.

Although, if he did spend his heat with Igor, the possible ramifications regarding them being soul mates were potentially huge. It was quite the dilemma.

It didn't take long for his inattentiveness to become apparent. One minute Igor was serenading him groom the stage, the next he was at Ellis’ side, concern written all over his face. He took Ellis’ hand, pressing it between his own.

“You seemed in another world just then. I do not think you heard my last piece at all. Are you well?”

“For the moment.” Ellis had never beaten about the bush, blunt to the point of being rude, and he wasn't about to start now. He would deal with the consequences later. “I believe I'm in pre-heat. If I'm correct, would you spend my heat with me?”

For long seconds, Ellis wondered if he'd broken the alpha. Stravinsky said nothing, merely stared, blinking excessively before he swallowed hard. A slight flush that intrigued Ellis dusted those ridiculous cheekbones as he finally lifted Ellis’ hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles before scenting the inner wrist - something that Ellis had come to expect from their meetings.

“If that is what you wish, it would be both an honour and a privilege to do so.”

Ellis tried to tell himself that the tightness in his chest and the tears in his eyes were from the motes of dust floating around rather than him being touched by the undisguised sincerity in Igor's voice but he knew he was lying. Instead, he cleared his throat roughly and stood up.

“Thank you. I think it best if I return home now. If it suits, I shall send word when it is time.”

“Of course, дорогой. Please, if you need anything, send word.”

As Ellis turned on slightly shaky legs and made his way out of the hall, he heard Stravinsky start to sing something in his native language, the piano starting up a jaunty accompaniment just as he slipped through the doors. 

~*~

Once his heat hit, Ellis started to lose his lucidity very quickly and he knew then that it was going to be bad. Thank god then, for the Trevelyan sisters. While Ellen had stayed to make sure that Ellis remained as comfortable as possible, Joan had gone for Igor herself. Despite him being naked and Ellen sponging damp cloths over his skin, Ellis felt overheated and he writhed on the sheets, saturating them with both sweat and slick. Every inch of skin itched, filling him with the urge to claw at his skin. At the same time, there was a void in him, a feeling of being incomplete, that something was missing. That issue, he knew, would and could only be solved by a knot.

This was what he hated about heats. Every omega had this compulsion, this need, that could only be satiated by a knot. Even that was only temporary, lasting only until the next wave started. Ellis adored sex and he hated the fact that, due to his omegan nature, he was missing all of these glorious knottings because he was out of his mind with need. It was why he used suppressants; he wanted to be lucid. It was why he was more than a little displeased that he was going to sleep with Igor for the first time during a heat. If he was lucky, he would be mostly aware for the first wave at least.

Ellis knew the instant that Igor was in his home. For a start, he could smell it. That same alluring yet reassuring scent but stronger, more pungent as it - as Igor- reacted to the pheromones that Ellis was releasing. Ellis heard a high pitched keen and it took him long seconds to release that it was him. He was calling out to an alpha, to Igor. He'd never done that before. It was effective though, because merely a fraction of a second later he heard footsteps on the stairs. Just after that, he heard a low growl emanating from the doorway and Ellis looked up to lock gazes with Igor.He was vaguely aware of Ellen leaving the room but then the door clicked close and all Ellis could think about was Igor.

He watched hungrily as the Russian alpha stripped hurriedly, revealing a body that Ellis couldn’t get enough of. Broad shoulders and chest covered with a veritable pelt of fur, surprisingly slender legs and, hanging between them, the cock that he had been fantasising, the knot already visible at the base. To his relief, Igor didn’t waste any time in getting on the bed but, to Ellis’ frustration, he resisted Ellis and his pleas to be fucked. Instead, he turned his attention to Ellis’ scars.

There was only one word for Igor's behaviour; worship. Pure and simple.

Not a single inch of scarring was ignored. From the fresh, deeper red surgical scars to the older silver webbing from his time in Africa, nothing was missed. Igor traced them all with reverential fingers before following with his lips. By the time that he had finished, Ellis’ cock was leaking pre-come consistently, just as slick was leaking steadily from him. And then Igor’s fingers were sliding into him and Ellis wanted to howl in pleasure, clenching around them. To his relief, Igor didn’t waste any time. He was thorough but perfunctory as he stretched Ellis, preparing him for his cock. It was thoughtful but unnecessary; Ellis’ body was built for this, was made for it. When Igor finally replaced his fingers with his cock, Ellis keened in pleasure, holding Igor close to him, not allowing him to move back for long minutes as Ellis revelled in the sensation of being filled with alpha cock.

And then Igor started moving, not withdrawing too much, just making shallow thrusts. It wouldn’t be enough when Ellis was further into his heat but, for the minute, it worked. As Igor thrust a little deeper, Ellis could feel his teeth graze over the gland in Ellis’ neck. Such a small point but one that was such a gamechanger and Ellis managed to gasp out his wishes.

“No biting. Not, not yet.”

To his relief, Igor obeyed him. But then Ellis could feel Igor’s knot pressing insistently against his hole and he spread his legs even further, trying to relax, to let it inside. This was what he craved, what he needed. As Igor forced his knot inside Ellis, Ellis came with a scream, covering his belly with sterile come as he felt Igor’s cock pulsing inside him, filling him with his seed.

Ellis had slept with many alphas over the years and, on the whole, they had all been incredibly pleasurable experiences. In terms of physicality, sex with several of them was comparable to sex with Igor. Yet this, with Igor, felt so completely different. It transcended the physical. The last time he had been knotted, by Pyotr the Russo-Australian soldier, he had felt full to the brim but strangely unsatisfied. Now, with Stravinsky's knot encased within Ellis’ body, he not only felt full but complete.

There was only one possible explanation. Despite all of Ellis’ protests to the contrary and refusal to even entertain the idea, he and Igor were soul mates. True mates. It was the only possible explanation.

Behind him, Igor adjusted slightly, his knot pulling at Ellis ever so slightly and Ellis couldn’t help but moan as he was jostled. He felt Igor press a kiss to the nape of his neck in apology before he wrapped his arms around Ellis tighter. Normally Ellis would hate this; he tended to go for a post-coital cigarette and kick his lover out of the bed rather than cuddling. Now, though? It was comforting. To not only be surrounded by Igor’s scent but his arms as well. Long fingers caressed Ellis’ stomach gently as he whispered in Russian, nuzzling into Ellis’ neck. Ellis might not be in the frame of mind to translate but there was no doubting the tone of his voice. As he closed his eyes and tried to get some rest before the next wave hit, Ellis tried to tell himself not to get too attached to this because, once this was all over, he had some decisions to make.

 ~*~

Ellis’ heat had been brutal. Almost as bad as his first. Truthfully, he had expected it to be. Even with Igor there to help him through it, it had been bad. It had been the best part of three years since Ellis had had a heat, relying on suppressants to avoid them and that was even without taking into account the effects from his injuries. Each wave had been more intense, had ravaged his body a little more.

If he had had to rely on toys to get him through, Ellis wasn't sure that he would have made it. He had needed to be knotted, to have the comfort of an alpha presence. Igor had not disappointed. Indeed, he had gone above and beyond, providing far more than sex and a knot - although both the sex and the knotting had been excellent. He had ensured that Ellis ate and remained dehydrated, had bathed Ellis, tried to ensure that he rested between waves and generally been there to soothe Ellis however he could. In short, he had been the perfect alpha.

Which made what Ellis had to do even harder.

Igor had only left that morning, returning to the Savoy to clean up properly and allow them both some space to process what had happened. From the minute that he had walked out of the door, Ellis had done nothing but think. He had wavered back and forth for a long time but, eventually, he knew what he had to do.

He had to stop this before it went any further.

Preparing himself to go to the Savoy to meet Igor, to end whatever this was between them was one of the hardest things that Ellis had ever done. Harder than being a newly presented omega while serving during the Boer War, harder than the Dardanelles, harder than the Western Front. A large part of him, that omegan hindbrain, wanted to stay with Igor forever. Wanted to believe everything that Igor had said both before, during and after Ellis’ heat. Wanted to believe him when he said that they were true mates, soul mates. Because deep down, right in the depths of himself, Ellis knew Igor was right.

Yet, he couldn’t. Ellis couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was too scared. Too scared that, by permitting this relationship to go ahead, he would be allowing Igor to make a huge mistake. Ellis was hardly the type of omega that an alpha wanted. He had no interest in remaining quiet on subjects he was passionate about, had no intention of being nothing more than a broodmare and homemaker. He drank too much, smoked too much and liked sex too much. He didn’t even know if he could be a good omega for an alpha, whether he was capable of being in a relationship. Oh yes, and then there was the small issue that, even if he wanted children, he couldn't have them because he had insisted on having a job and running off to war. It wasn't fair to Stravinsky, not when he already had a perfectly respectable wife who could give him pups, even if she was a beta.

It didn't matter that Ellis knew that he was on the precipice of being in love for the first time. It didn't matter that Igor was the best partner Ellis had taken to bed possibly ever. It didn't matter that Ellis could envision them actually making things work, creating a life together.

For the first time in a long time, Ellis wasn't going to be selfish. He was going to put someone else first.

 (~*~)

Of course, what he hadn't banked on was Stravinsky disagreeing with Ellis’ plan. Certainly not as vehemently as he did. Ellis had expected Igor to not like the idea but he more than disliked it, he hated it.

“Why are you saying all of this? Why are you insisting on ignoring what is between us? I do not have any problem with anything you claim I would.”

“You say that now but you’d change your mind. It’s better this way.”

“So you would have us both be miserable?”

“How can you know that we would both be miserable?”

“Because we are soul mates! We belong together!”

There was a long silence after the words virtually exploded out of Stravinsky. Finally, he let out a long sigh that tore at something inside of Ellis, almost making him reconsider everything. “I cannot do anything to change your mind?”

Yes. “No.”

“Then I shall abide by your wishes. Ballet Russes are programming one of my works and so I shall return to Paris. I shall not be returning to Lausanne and Katya; I still believe, with every fibre of my being, that we are soul mates and that we belong together.” As he had every single time that they had parted, Stravinsky took Ellis’ hand in his and pressed a kiss to his knuckles before he turned it over to scent Ellis’ wrist. This time, for the first time, he also pressed a kiss to Ellis’ palm, looking up to make eye contact.

“When you accept what I am telling you, that we are soul mates and that we belong to together, you know where to find me.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have done a little bit of wibbly-wobbly hand waving in this chapter and moved the whole Stravinsky/Chanel thing earlier in the timeline just to make things work for my benefit.

Despite his initial conviction that he had made the decision that was best for Stravinsky, Ellis found it hard to live with his decision. He had had the briefest glimpse of what life could be like and now he was having to live without it. Ellis was doing nothing more than going through the motions. Not even the lure of a new book contract was enough to rouse him from his melancholy, and he was far from oblivious to the concerned glances the Trevelyan sisters were exchanging when they thought he wasn’t looking.

London – and life itself – had lost its lustre.

Ellis had never really been the type of person who felt regret. He certainly didn’t regret any of the decisions that he had made in the past. Except for one. Now, he was wondering if he had truly made the right decision in sending Stravinsky away. Purely and simply, he missed the man. More than he had ever thought it was possible to miss someone.

It wasn’t just the sex. It was the way that he had been the sole focus of Stravinsky’s attention when they were together. The conversations that they had shared. The man’s scent. The way that Ellis had felt right in Igor’s arms, like he was where he belonged, and everything was right with the world. Ellis had said no to more because he was scared, and it was that which stuck in Ellis’ craw. It there was one word that Ellis would use to describe himself, coward was most definitely not it. That was not to say that he did not feel fear; he was only human after all. No, he felt fear, but he had always faced it in the past. So why not now? Why not with Igor?

Ellis was not a fan of self-recrimination and loathing. He didn’t like the way that they made him feel. Yet, they both consumed him as he cursed himself for having pushed the alpha away. ** Ellis knew where to find him when he accepted that they were soul-mates, but did he mean that, or had he just been saying it?

And then the reports started appeared in the papers.

Diverging from all of the news from the Western Front, a small column – barely more than an inch – that said that controversial Russian composer Igor Stravinsky had been seen spending a lot of time with renowned French couturier Coco Chanel. Rumour had it that he was living in her Parisian townhouse. Seeing the words in black and white, alongside a small, rather grainy photograph was like a knife to Ellis’ heart. He knew little about Chanel, but there was no denying that she was a beautiful woman in a very striking way. Joan and Ellen tried to placate him, telling him that there might not be any truth to the matter, that the papers could be deceiving but Ellis would not listen to them, choosing instead to torment himself, seeking out as many articles and as much information as he could. It didn’t take him long to discover that, in actual fact, Stravinsky was living in Chanel’s villa just outside of Paris and that she was currently bankrolling certain Ballet Russes productions. Interestingly, she was also an alpha.

Ellis couldn’t help himself. He wondered if Igor touched Chanel as he had touched Ellis. It he whispered the same things against her skin, if he made her the same promises. All in all, it led to more than a few sleepless nights.

And then, Ellis’ heat hit again.

Ellis wasn’t sure if it was because of the news – or should that be rumours – of Igor and Chanel so close to the heat that he had shared with Igor, or the fact that he still wasn’t allowed back on suppressants. What he did know was that, as bad as his last heat was, this was going to be worse. Despite all of his best intentions, Ellis had fallen hard for Igor Stravinsky and, as a result, this would be tough; his omegan side calling out for the alpha that it had created a bond with.

So, the minute that Ellis felt that familiar itch under his skin, he made what preparations he could.  He made a discreet trip to Soho and a certain establishment that he knew there, one that he had frequented before, albeit not for a long time. Ellis knew the proprietor, had shared a few dalliances with him, and so the man was willing to help Ellis get what he needed, namely several dildos that matched Igor’s relative length and girth, complete with knot in a number of different materials. Ellis knew that they wouldn’t be the perfect replacement, but he at least hoped that they would take the edge off.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

While Ellis had always been able to derive pleasure from toys, that was not the case this time. It didn’t matter which one he used – either the more textured leather covered shaft or the heavier marble dildo – neither one came close to satiating his need. He simply writhed on the sheets, soaking them through with slick and sweat as he rode the toys until he was sore and over sensitized, but still desperate with lust. The toys didn’t even take the edge off. In an all too brief moment of lucidity, he admitted that they never would again; the only thing that would work now was a knot. There was even the possibility that no knot other than Stravinsky’s would satisfy him.

When Ellis had been in the throes of heat for three days with barely an hours respite between each wave, the Trevelyan sisters once more took matters into their own hands. The first attempt had been disastrous to say the least. Joan had managed to find an alpha that had had sexual relations with Ellis before. Things had gone well until he had seen Ellis naked, his scars on full display, and had voiced his disgust, refusing to sleep with Ellis under any circumstances. He had even gone so far as to say that, in his opinion, they would be lucky to find any willing alpha; especially given that the scars were not merely limited to one area of Ellis’ body. Horrified, the Trevelyan sisters had shown him the door.

The second attempt was, initially, more successful.

Joan knew someone – the alpha son of a friend who had been invalided home from the Somme and not sent back out when he had recovered. He hadn’t reacted adversely to Ellis’ scars, but Ellis’ omegan side had reacted adversely to the strange alpha. It went well at first, or at least it seemed to. It felt as though there was something crawling beneath Ellis’ skin, but he put that down to the fact that he had been in heat for four days without respite. Yet, when the alpha’s cock got close to Ellis’ slit, the second that it started to penetrate him, Ellis knew that this feeling of wrongness was nothing to do with his heat. It was due to the alpha. The wrong alpha.

Igor had been right. They were soulmates. Ellis’ head may not have accepted it, but Ellis’ body – his omegan side – had. Now, it was perhaps time for head, heart and omega to fall in line with each other. Ellis had never felt like he had when he was with Stravinsky and, if this attempt was anything to go by, he would not feel that with any other alpha. His heats would simply get worse with every single one, unrelenting in their onslaught as every fibre of him screamed out for Igor.

Especially now that he acknowledged that Stravinsky was right and that they were soul mates. Ellis had been so adamant that that wasn’t the case, but now he could admit to himself that he had been lying to both Igor and to himself. He could no longer do that. If any omega belonged with an alpha, Ellis belonged with Igor Stravinsky.

It looked as though he was going to Paris. He had an alpha to find and claim.

~*~

Ellis couldn’t help but feel trepidation as he boarded the boat that would take him back to France. He knew that it was more than feasible to make to trip to Paris safely – after all, the Western Front was focused to the north and the south, and Igor had made the journey safely twice – but that didn’t make it easier for him. It was proving hard for him to forget that, the last time he was on the Continent, he had suffered life-changing injuries. Still, needs must and if he wanted to see Igor again, wanted to rectify the situation between them, then he needed to go to France.

The trepidation dissipated the further that Ellis got in his journey. It certainly helped that, when he landed in France and boarded the train that would take him south, there was no noise from the artillery; they were suitably far enough from the arena of war. Even so, the port was full of soldiers returning to the front and injured soldiers being evacuated home. As he travelled south, Ellis could see from the carriage window just how badly the French countryside had been ravaged by war. Even Paris itself hadn’t remained unscathed. It may not have received the bombardment that they had feared, but it had been hit by several German bombs and gun batteries and cannons had been placed around the city.

Igor had said that, when he was ready, Ellis would know where to find him, but it wasn’t quite as easy as that; even with the men at war and other occupants evacuated, Paris was a large city. Still, he knew that Igor had come back for the Ballet Russes, so he immediately headed for the Théâtre du Châtelet, only to be greeted with disappointment. Yes, the Ballet Russes were in residence but Maestro Stravinsky was not. However, they did know that he was staying with Mademoiselle Chanel at her home _Bel Respiro_ in Garches. So, Ellis found himself paying above the odds to convince a female taxi driver to take him the twelve kilometres to the Paris suburbs. In an ideal world, he would have been able to wash away the grime of travelling, but he didn’t want to waste any time. Even better, he wouldn’t be going to find his alpha in the home of the person that he was rumoured to be having an affair with.

_Bel Respiro_ was truly beautiful, an oasis of calm amidst what was happening elsewhere in France and, the creative in Ellis understood why Igor had chosen to live somewhere like this. The member of staff that announced the door was pleasant and susceptible to Ellis’ charm, willing to show him to Igor without needing too much convincing. Ellis smelt and heard Igor before he saw him; the familiar scent of alpha musk, ink, cigarette smoke and sandalwood filling his lungs, even as the strains of a piano filled his ears.

A feeling of rightness washed over him. A knot in his chest that Ellis hadn’t even been aware of loosened and released at the knowledge of being in such close proximity to Igor. To his alpha. He had made the right decision. He was where he was meant to be. Listening closely, he recognised the piece being played as that which Igor had played at the Aeolian Hall when Ellis had asked Igor to share his heat with him, only now it had a melancholic rather than a joyous bent. Taking a deep breath, Ellis pushed the door open only for the music to stop with a discordant clash of notes and the door be yanked open by a somewhat wild-looking alpha.

“Hello, Igor.”

Igor’s eyes were wide and just a little bit wet behind his glasses but there was no hiding the sheer joy that he was feeling. “Ellis. Дорогой. You’re here.” Igor reached out with a shaky hand, tracing over Ellis’ cheek “Does this mean that you finally believe, accept that we are…”

“Soulmates? Yes.”

Ellis let out a shaky laugh as Igor took his hand and, just as every other time, raised it to his lips and kissed Ellis’ knuckles before scenting his wrist and kissing his palm. As he did so, a litany of endearments and thanks to God fell from his lips in a mixture of Russian, French and English. When he finally paused for breath, it was to pull Ellis into his embrace, tucking his nose against the scent glands as he did so and tipping his head so that Ellis could do the same. The feeling of contentment settled into Ellis’ bones and, before he was aware of it, he was clinging to Igor, practically shaking like a leaf. Igor made no comment, simply allowing him to cling until he was ready to pull back. When Ellis did, it wasn’t far.

It was strange to think that they had shared a courtship – and a heat – together, yet they had never kissed. At least not on the lips and not one that Ellis could remember. It was possible that it had happened during his heat, but Ellis didn’t think that was likely given how traditional and respectful Igor was. He rectified that now. Tracing those ridiculous cheekbones with his fingers, Ellis leaned in to capture Igor’s lips with his own. It was probably the most chaste kiss that Ellis had ever initiated but it still managed to take his breath away. Pulling back, he rested his forehead against Igor’s so they were all but breathing the same air.

“I love you, Igor Stravinsky. And I’m sorry that it took me so long to admit that you were right, and we are soulmates.”

“I love you. My omega. Мой родственная душа.” Igor’s reciprocal kiss was the opposite of chaste. It was full of passion, love and lust and Ellis responded fervently. Hands raked through hair, clutched at bodies and rumpled clothing before they pulled back, both breathing heavily. 

“We need to talk. But not here.” Ellis didn’t elaborate but he could see that he didn’t have to; Igor understood. 

“Diaghilev’s apartment. He is in Rome so it is empty, we can use that.” 

“I have a taxi waiting outside.” 

(~*~) 

Ellis had never expected, despite thinking of as many scenarios as he possibly could, that a scant four hours after his arrival in Paris he would be ensconced in a bathtub with Igor, a half-empty bottle of champagne beside the tub on the tiled floor. They had barely been able to stop touching each other since their reunion and Ellis’ admission of love in Garches. It wouldn’t always be thus, but Ellis was revelling in it while he could, the feel of Igor’s chest hair against his back and the feel of those long pianists’ fingers trailing over his scars. 

“Why did you push me away in London? Why did you deny us this?” 

Needing something to do with his hands while he thought of how best to phrase his response, despite practising a hundred times over on the journey, Ellis lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Because I’m hardly the type of omega that an alpha wants. Oh, I’m excellent for a fuck or two, but a relationship? No chance. I drink too much, smoke too much, have too much sex, too many opinions and am entirely too independent. I don’t want to sit at home being told what to do and what not to think. That isn’t me.” 

“I knew all of that and yet I still courted you. Try again.” 

“You say that none of that matters to you and it might not now, but what if you change your mind? I was scared. I _am_ scared. Scared that I’m not good enough, that you might leave, scared that I want something that I always scorned.” Ellis gave a deprecating laugh. “I never wanted pups, did you know that? The idea of being an incubator for nine months, unable to do most of the things I enjoy was far from appealing.”  

Ellis trailed a finger over the largest of the scars that dissected his belly. “Strange then how, the minute I was told I couldn’t have them, I wanted them. Or at least entertained the notion of them. Of having them with you. If I released you to be with Katya, there was still the possibility for you to have pups.”

Ellis found himself hauled up and against Igor, water sloshing over the sides of the tub, so that he was practically sat in the man’s lap, his shoulder pressed against that broad chest. 

“But I do not want to have pups with Katya. I do not want to be with Katya. I am not in love with her, I’m in love with you. Your ability to conceive does not change that. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, I understand.” 

“Whatever happens, we are soulmates. We will face and deal with everything together.”

“Agreed.” Ellis pressed his nose against Stravinsky’s neck, breathing in that smell and allowed himself to relax, fingers playing with the whorls of chest hair and hearing Igor rumble his pleasure at the petting. 

“What convinced you that we were soulmates?” 

Ellis forced himself not to tense. This was it. The part of the conversation that could make or break everything. Still, he had to be truthful. He had come this far, he could go a little bit further and hope that he survived the fallout. 

“In truth, I think I knew before you left. I may not have acknowledged it but, deep down, I knew that you were right. That I loved you, that we were soulmates. I, just, as I said before, I was scared. For all of the reasons that I told you about.” Ellis took a deep breath and, in need of further fortification, took a long slug of champagne. “Things weren’t the same with you gone. Life, well, it lost its lustre. I was simply drifting through life. And then I had another heat. The doctors still won’t permit me to go back on suppressants and so I’m likely to have a heat every few months. The one that I had – the one that we shared – was the worst that I’d had in years, even given your presence and help. This one was worse. My omegan side had already accepted you as my alpha. Nothing but you would do, would ease my heat. When my … specialist toys didn’t help, Joan and Ellen decided to try something a little more unconventional. They went out to find me an alpha. The first attempt was a disaster. He didn’t even get close enough to touch me. He took one look at my scars, called me disgusting and bolted.”

Ellis took the smallest bit of heart from Igor’s growl. “The second attempt was more successful initially. He didn’t run away at least. However, the minute that he touched me, it felt wrong. With you, it feels right when you touch me, like electricity running through my veins. But with him? It just felt wrong. I made it through my heat, but it wasn’t easy. Far from it. And there you have it, the truth of the matter.”

Ellis looked up at Igor who, through all of Ellis’ talking hadn’t moved, hadn’t allowed his grasp on Ellis to falter.  “Are you sure you still want me? A defective omega who probably can’t bear you pups and who tried to sleep with an alpha during heat that he knew wasn’t his soulmate?” Ellis tried to make light of the situation, but his heart was in his mouth, pounding hard enough that he was positive that Igor could feel it. 

“I could not want you more. What you call defective, I call a show of strength. You are my omega, just as I am your alpha.  What you have told me does not change that. We belong together.” Igor pressed a searing kiss to Ellis’ lips. “Allow me to show you how very much you are wanted.” 

(~*~) 

They were both still slightly damp from the bath when Igor laid Ellis out on the bed in the master chamber. He made no attempt to join him, instead simply standing there and drinking his fill of the sight before him, giving Ellis a sense of déjà vu.

Ellis’ memories of his heat with Igor were hazy at best, lost in a fog of lust but he did remember that no other alpha had treated him as the Russian did. Gently, carefully. Not as though he were a piece of fragile porcelain and Igor was afraid that Ellis may break, but simply because he was precious. Something to be treasured.

Igor's expression was one of awe and adoration as he gazed upon Ellis. Reverential was perhaps the best word for it. Unable to resist preening a little bit, Ellis stretched and twisted sinuously, showing off his body to best effect. Hoping that it might entice Igor to touch him, rather than just staring. Scarring aside, Ellis knew that he had what was regarded as the perfect, most desirable form for a male omega.

His posturing worked.

Igor had already been half-hard, but his cock swelled further, curving upwards and revealing the knot at the base. Even better, Igor abandoned his post at the foot of the bed and instead crawled up the bed to lie at Ellis’ side. As he had in the bath, Igor trailed his fingers reverentially over every single inch of Ellis’ skin, from his head to his toes, not missing even the smallest part. Where the scars had disgusted previous alphas, they entranced Igor and his fingers lingered there even longer. His lips followed his fingers, soft kisses covering his skin, Igor's tongue tracing the lines that varied through shades of purple through red to pink and then faint silver, all of them telling the story of Ellis’ life.

Ellis may not have the pronounced softness some male omegas had in the breast area, but his nipples were both prominent and sensitive. Igor discovered that as he laved one with his tongue, before sucking it into his mouth, teeth grazing over the tip. Ellis writhed and whined at the sensations that were being elicited in him, could feel the slick starting to gather and leak from him. He arched his back, offering more of himself up for Igor’s attention.

To Ellis’ relief, Igor took his reaction as a signal to go further.

Last time, everything about their encounter was focused on getting Ellis through his heat. Preparation had been perfunctory, and it had been about satiating Ellis’ need. Now, it was as though Ellis were a feast and Igor was a starving man.

Igor pressed a series of wet kisses down Ellis’ stomach, licking a broad stripe up the length of his cock before taking the head of it into his throat. Ellis knew that he was well-endowed, he’d certainly never had any complaints from any of those that he had fucked, and he couldn’t help but be impressed by the ease with which Igor swallowed him down. Igor swallowed, massaging Ellis’ shaft with his throat before he pulled back with a lewd pop, only to turn his attention lower, to Ellis’ sac and slit.

Ellis had had many lovers over the years, but none that had eaten him out as enthusiastically as Igor. Ellis was so wet with slick that he was more than a little impressed that Igor could still breathe. Yet, there was no denying Igor’s desire to please. His tongue speared Ellis, fingers adding to the sensation until he had to hold Ellis’ hips to the mattress because he was squirming so much. Ellis heard himself keening as he climaxed, flooding Igor’s mouth with his juices.

And then, as Ellis’ nerves were still quivering from his first orgasm, he felt Igor stretching him before sliding his cock home.

This wasn't heat, an omega presenting for their alpha. This was an entirely new experience for Ellis. One that he had always scoffed at, mocking what he deemed to be overly-romantic omegas for living in a fantasy. Now, he couldn't help but wonder if he had been too quick to scorn.

This was love-making, pure and simple. There was no other way to describe it.

With every thrust that Igor made, they exchanged long, deep kisses. Sweet kisses. Languorous kisses. Ellis wrapped his thighs around Igor’s hips, canting his hips up so that Igor could thrust even deeper, clinging to Igor’s shoulders. Igor had encompassed all of his senses; scent, sight, touch. With every movement, he could feel Igor’s knot moving in and out of him, getting bigger with every pass. Finally, it was too big to move easily, and Igor had to slow his thrusts, pressing insistently to force it into Ellis’ body. Once it was lodged inside, Igor could do little more than make the smallest movements but that didn’t matter.

As with before, Ellis felt the same sensation of completeness, but this time he would remember it this time. Surrounded by Igor’s smell, completely filled with Igor, Ellis surrendered and came a second time, spilling all over his belly, even as he his internal muscles contracted around Igor and he felt himself full to the brim with Igor’s seed. Igor shifted slightly awkwardly above him, but Ellis simply tightened his arms, encouraging his alpha to blanket him with his body, wanting the closeness. Craving it.

As he lay satiated and flushed from multiple orgasms, still tied to Igor by his knot, Ellis just had one concern. He’d barely made it through this; how was he going to survive bonding?! 

(~*~)

As Ellis had expected, it wasn’t too long after his reunion with Igor that his heat had hit once more. He was far from enamoured with his heats that were happening almost every month, but he hoped that, now that he had at least acknowledged his relationship with Igor, that they would be less intense. There was one last thing that he hoped would help; bonding.

The increased proximity to Igor had helped. Even several hours into the first wave of his heat, he was more lucid than he would have been normally. They had discussed things in detail, about how they were going to go about things so that, when the time came, it wasn’t quite so much an issue that Ellis might not be in control of all his faculties.

It was a good job. While Ellis was perhaps more in control than he had been in previous heats, he was still less than lucid and subject to his base nature more than he would have liked. Even so, Ellis was very aware of when Igor finally set his sharpened alpha fangs to the gland in Ellis’ neck that would bond them together forever. He was similarly aware enough to set his own smaller fangs to Igor’s neck, leaving an identical mark to the alphas neck.

Whatever feeling of being complete that Ellis had experienced when being filled by Igor’s cock and knot, it was nothing compare to the sensation of being bonded. It took everything to the next level, and, for the first time, Ellis understood why everybody had raved about it before. He felt whole and knew that, regardless of what happened, he would never be alone again.

No matter what was thrown at him, he would face it with Igor at his side. As alpha and omega.

~*~

Ellis couldn’t help but feel an almost strange sense of pride as he dressed for the evening. It was going to be the first time that they had been out in public since their bonding and Ellis knew that all eyes would be on them; the crème de la crème of Paris were going to want to see the Englishman that Igor Stravinsky had thrown Coco Chanel, the doyenne of Parisian fashion, over for. Wearing nothing but his evening trousers and singlet, Ellis traced gentle fingers over the bond mark that Igor had left on his throat, a perfect match to the one that Ellis had given him. It was still a livid red, although he knew that it would eventually fade to silver. Ellis shivered as Igor came up behind him, already fully dressed in his own evening wear, lips brushing over the mark and eliciting a small cry from Ellis.

“If you keep doing that, we’ll never make it to the theatre.” His actions were at odds with his words however, as Ellis tipped his head, mutely asking Igor to continue.

“We can’t have that, can we? I wish to show off how lucky I am that such an intelligent, independent, handsome omega consented to be mine.”

Ellis lifted one hand to anchor Igor there, feeling jolts of electricity flowing through his veins as Igor mouthed at the mark, as though the bonding mark was directly connected to his cock and slit.

Igor finally pulled away with one last nuzzle and a soft kiss. “I have a gift for you, one that I would be honoured if you would wear this evening, although I completely understand why you would not.”

Intrigued, Ellis turned to see Igor holding a rather large jewellery box. As the latch flipped and Igor opened it, Ellis’ breath caught in his throat.

A bonding collar.

They had fallen out of fashion somewhat over the years but were still popular among the very highest echelons of society. Ellis had seen a number of them over the years, although he had never thought that he would ever be presented with one. Certainly not one like this. Involuntarily, he found himself reaching out, curious fingers trailing over the glittering gems. He was sure that he had seen something similar to this before, in a photograph perhaps. All of a sudden, it came to him.

“Is this Fabergé?”

“Da. A similar version to a collar once worn by omegas of the Romanov family. My father gave it to my mother. Fyodor Stravinsky was a leading bass with the Imperial Mariinsky Opera, and he was gifted the collar by Tsar Alexander in recognition of one of his performances. He gave it to my mother when they bonded, and it was left to me upon their deaths.” Igor took a step forward, all but cradling Ellis against his chest as the arm that was not holding the box slid around Ellis’ waist. “I am very aware that you are not a traditional omega and I would not change that for the world. However …” words seemed to fail Igor as he gave a helpless shrug.

Ellis nosed at Igor’s jaw, knowing exactly what he was trying to say. “Not even six months ago, I wouldn’t have even considered it. Part of me hates the idea, thinks that they belong in a bygone era where omegas were nothing more than their bodies could do. You are right, I am far from being a traditional omega and bonding collars are as traditional as they come.” Ellis gave a rather self-deprecating laugh. “Yet, I don’t know if it is still as a result of the influx of hormones from my heat and our bonding, but I find myself wanting to wear it. I cannot promise that I will ever wear it again. I’m sorry, but I can’t. However, it would be my honour to wear it this evening. To show that I am yours.”

The smile on Stravinsky’s face was radiant, utterly transforming it as he lifted the collar from the box and fastened it around Ellis’ neck, where it sat below the bonding mark, highlighting it. The reverence with which Stravinsky pressed a kiss to the mark sent a jolt of heat through Ellis and, along with the sheer adoration he could feel through the bond was at odds with the abrupt Russian when Igor spoke.

“Nyet. Not merely that you are mine, but that I am yours. родственная душа.”

(~*~)

Several hours later, as they arrived scandalously late at the theatre – after the conductor had taken his place at the podium – Ellis couldn’t help the smug smirk that he sent in the direction of Chanel, as he angled his neck just so to show both the collar and the bonding bite off to perfection.

There was no hiding the sour look on her face at the sight of them, or the way that her mouth twisted into a moue of disgust at seeing both the collar and the mark on Ellis’ neck. As they took their seats, Igor looked at Ellis with an expression that could only be described as amused indulgence as he took Ellis’ hand in his and kissed the knuckles, scenting the inside of Ellis’ wrist. Settling in to watch the performance of Igor’s _Feu d’Artifice_ , Ellis pressed that little bit closer than was perhaps socially acceptable.

He’d made the right decision, no doubt about it.


	8. Chapter 8

**One year later…**

 

When Ellis woke, it was to the sound of Igor’s fingers tapping away at the piano keys. The sheets were still warm however, so he had not been long abandoned. He stretched lazily, noticing as he did so that his scars barely pulled these days. Even the most recent scars had faded to a silvery white, as had his bond mark.

It had been a year since Ellis had arrived in Paris, a year since they had bonded and made their lives together. A year since Igor had filed the paperwork requesting the dissolution of his marriage to Katya. Ellis had insisted that it wasn’t necessary; they both wore each other’s bond mark and, well, it was hardly the first time that Ellis had fucked a married man, although it would be the last. Igor had been determined though, especially given the direction that things were moving in Russia. He worried that, if he didn’t move quickly, then the Imperial Alpha/Omega Marriage Act would be dissolved by the new provisional government. They had both gone to the Russian Embassy in Paris where Igor had produced his marriage certificate to Katya, the request to dissolve their marriage and they both had shown their bonding marks. The request had been granted then and there, leaving them belonging to no one but each other.

Igor was still composing for the Ballet Russes, as well as for the Orchestrelle Company, while Ellis mostly lived the life of a beloved omega although he was still writing here and there, toying with the idea of a new book. That was not to say that their relationship had been idyllic every single day. There had been plenty of clashes between them; they were both passionate men with fiery tempers. Yet, the arguments never became serious. They were always resolved. It was not the life that Ellis had envisioned for himself, but he found himself more content than he could ever have imagined with a single lover.

Then again, Ellis had never had a lover like Igor Stravinsky.

Ellis considered lounging in bed for a little longer, but then the music drifting through the air changed and all thoughts of staying in bed were dismissed. This wasn’t Rite, it wasn’t the piece that Igor had played for Ellis at the Aeolian Hall or that he had been playing at Bel Respiro, yet it still had a similar effect on Ellis. It held that primitive edge that stirred Ellis’ blood. And other parts of his anatomy as well.

He knew this piece. Igor was working on rearranging Firebird as a concert suite for orchestra and he had been working on Kaschei’s Infernal Dance. It pre-dated Rite in composition but featured many similar thematic ideas. Ellis threw back the covers, padding naked through to the parlour where the piano had been installed.

Igor was just as naked, sitting bare-arsed on the piano stool. The first time that Ellis had tried to start something sexual in such close proximity, Igor had accused him of desecration. Ellis had responded that he was overreacting and that he should think of it as consecration instead. Igor may have initially been dubious, but he had taken Ellis at his word and they had had plenty of enjoyable times at the instrument.

Ellis planned to add another one to the list.

He waited until Igor had finished playing, fingers coaxing the keys to a pulse-racing thunderous climax, safe in the knowledge that Igor was so involved in the music that he was utterly oblivious to Ellis’ presence. The second that Igor was done, scribbling corrections on manuscript, Ellis was there, his fingers trailing over Igor’s shoulders as he slid into the man’s lap, not caring that there wasn’t quite enough space for him there. He arched into Igor as the man drew his fingers up Ellis’ straining cock before dipping lower, feeling the slick that dampened Ellis’ thighs.

“Should I be concerned by the effect that my music has on you?”

“Concerned? No. Inspired? Undoubtedly.”

“You’re casting yourself in the role of my muse then?” Igor’s tone was amused but Ellis could feel his cock starting to swell beneath him.

“You’re saying that I haven’t already been cast in the role?” Ellis arched an eyebrow before he bit at Igor’s bond mark.

“Touché.” Ignoring Ellis sat in his lap, Igor once more spread his fingers over the keys and started to play. This was something entirely new, something that Ellis had never heard before. Yet, it contained many of the same qualities that Ellis loved about Kaschei and Rite; the primitive feel, the sense of urgency and the sharp interjections. All of it had Ellis undulating against Igor’s cock, raking his fingers through the dark strands of hair that hung unfettered from their usual pomade.

And then Igor’s lips fastened around one of Ellis’ nipples, sucking on it and letting his teeth graze it, even as he continued to play. Ellis could feel the slick start to leak steadily from him as he writhed, one hand flying behind him to grip at the piano for stability. Reaching between them, he wrapped his hand around Igor’s cock, the movement aided by his own slick covering the shaft and thumbed over the head. The music stopped as Igor abandoned the keys in favour of Ellis’ hips, lifting him enough for Igor to position his cock at Ellis’ entrance.

Ellis was starting to think that, no matter how many times they did this, he would get over the way that his body accepted Igor within him, how easily his walls parted to accept Igor’s cock. It filled him perfectly and there was that tease of Igor’s knot at his entrance with every downwards thrust, the hint of the pleasure to come. Ellis wasted no time in setting a rhythm, impaling himself on Igor’s cock over and over again.

Every time Ellis seated himself on Igor’s cock, his arse also came down on a multitude of the ivory keys, creating a cacophony of noise that was accompanied by whines, moans and heavy breathing, the slick sound of Igor’s cock withdrawing and re-sheathing itself within Ellis. Finally, with one hard thrust from Igor, his knot was lodged within Ellis and the only movement that either of them could make was a languorous rocking from Ellis and shallow thrusts from Igor. Still, Igor’s hand on his cock and lips on his nipple was enough to tip Ellis over the edge, spilling over Igor’s hand and their stomachs while he clenched around Igor, feeling the alpha spill inside of him.

“What do you make of your latest work?” Ellis’ chest heaved when he was finally able to speak.

Igor’s response came as he left a series of sucking kisses along Ellis’ shoulder and neck. “Critics will hate it. I adore it.”

(~*~)

Irrespective of his happiness, Ellis was not a soul that was made to remain idle, tied to one place. It didn’t matter how much Ellis loved Igor, he just wasn’t used to staying in one place for a long time and the year that he had been in Paris was the longest he had been in one place in quite a few years. It did not help that news was starting to reach them in Paris of unrest in Eastern Europe.

As a result, Ellis wasn’t entirely surprised when, as the first reports came in, he got a request from Lord Burnham asking him to go to Hungary and report for the British press. What did surprise Ellis was the fact that he didn’t immediately accept said request. This was the kind of assignment that Ellis excelled at. This was what he had done in Manchuria, in Morocco and during the First Balkan War, never mind what he had done in the Dardanelles and Belgium. Had the request come a few years previously, Ellis wouldn’t have hesitated, but it was not merely about him anymore. He had his alpha, he had Igor to consider.

However, Igor was nothing more than a consideration. If Ellis wanted to do this, then he would do it. Igor had known that Ellis would forge his own path and he had wanted him anyway. That hadn’t really been an issue since Ellis had come to Paris because he hadn’t been well and then they had bonded and had needed the bond to settle. Now, though? There was nothing health-wise keeping him in Paris. And so, he had broached the subject at dinner.

Igor’s response had surprised him.

“You have no objections to me going? To Hungary? To report on a possible revolution?”

“Ellis. Дорогой. You are a journalist, a good one. This is who you are, what you do. Why would I stop you from going? I am your alpha, da, but that does not make me your master. If you wish to go, then go.”

Ellis’ heart soared and he slipped out of his seat and into Igor’s lap, the chair creaking ominously beneath the weight of two grown men. He bestowed a searing kiss upon Igor before pulling back and nuzzling against his bond mark.

“I may be an uncommon omega, but _you_ are an uncommon alpha, Igor Stravinsky and I could not be more grateful. What did I do to deserve you?”

“Nothing. You were simply you. We were designed for each other; родственная душа. A Swiss philanthropist has agreed to finance my next work in Diaghilev’s absence so I shall work from there. I will miss you, of course, but I will wait for you to return.”

Ellis was so grateful that they didn’t make it through the rest of their meal. Instead, the dining table saw use for other reasons.

~*~

There was no doubt that Budapest was a beautiful city. Bisected by the River Danube, it was a wonderful mix of architectural styles. There was evidence of ancient Roman ruins, some remaining buildings in the Gothic style, a rich plethora of Renaissance buildings as well as beautiful examples of Ottoman and Byzantine architecture. It was not Paris, however. Or even Lausanne, where Igor currently resided.

For all that Ellis had wanted to come to here – had been desperate to come, in fact – he wasn’t all that enthused once he had arrived. It wasn’t the journalistic part. That was fine and, if anything, he relished that part. He had done a few bits of freelance work, mostly articles, for his old boss Lord Burnham but that had been it. For the most part, Ellis had been living a life of leisure with Igor in Paris – dinners and drinks with the likes of Ernest Hemingway and the Princesse de Polignac. And that led on to the real issue for Ellis’ lack of enthusiasm over his current location.

Whilst he loved the buzz of being back at work, what he really didn’t like was being parted from Igor. It was like Australia and New Zealand all over again but worse, because now he knew exactly how Igor smelt and how he felt against Ellis – how he felt _in_ Ellis. It was torturous enough that, upon his return, Ellis was seriously considering making the demand that they never be parted again. It wasn’t as though it would be hard. As journalist and musician respectively, the nomadic life was in their blood; if Igor had access to a piano, and Ellis to a typewriter, they would be fine.

The events going on around him – the resignation of the president of the Hungarian Democratic Republic and his replacement by a pro-Bolshevik sent by Lenin and the ensuing revolutionary government – temporarily distracted Ellis from the fact that this wasn’t simply pining for Igor. However, there were other issues that concerned him more than the fact that he was in the middle of a revolution. He was more fatigued than normal, but he put that down to the fact that he hadn’t worked for the best part of eighteen months; it was taking him a little bit of time to get back into the swing of things. But then there were other things; the nausea, the mood swings and the headaches. All of it was very much out of the ordinary, inexplicable and made for a very unhappy Ellis.

He communicated all of this to Igor, in a series of letters. It would have no doubt eased Ellis’ pining if he had been able to speak to Igor on the phone, but the lines in Budapest weren’t the most reliable. They had journeyed part of the way together from Paris as Igor was currently based in Switzerland working on his latest composition at the home of his financier. Igor wrote that work was going well and that Reinhart – his financier – had arranged several performances of Igor’s work by local musicians that had been very well received. Yet, Igor was clearly worried about Ellis and he said so explicitly. It was after Ellis had been in Hungary for maybe six weeks that Igor pointed out something that made Ellis truly think.

Ellis hadn’t had a heat since he had arrived in Hungary.

What they had noticed, over the year and few months that they had been bonded, was that Ellis’ heat had settled down. He still hadn’t gone back on his suppressants, even though he might have done in an ideal world. If he was being totally honest, Ellis had avoided all doctors since that day he had run into Igor near Harley Street, so he didn’t have the advice of a medical professional as to whether or not he could start taking them again. There was also the fact that both Ellis and Igor loved heat sex, couldn’t get enough of it. Why would they put an end to that? Even so, Ellis’ heats came every two months like clockwork, ever so slightly more frequently than the usual four times a year.

His last heat had finished two weeks before they had left Paris so Ellis should have been due for a heat a week ago. Most of the symptoms that he had suffered from since his arrival – headaches, fatigue, mood swings – were often indicators that his heat was coming. Yet, there had been no heat.

For the first time in two years, Ellis hadn’t had a heat.

It was concerning, especially given how regular his heats had been for at least the last year. There were plenty of reasons for heats to stop, usually due to illness or due to pregnancy, but neither of them seemed to be a possibility for Ellis. He immediately discounted the latter. The symptoms that he had been suffering from were usually good indications of early pregnancy, but it wasn’t exactly an option for Ellis. Not after everything that he had been through.

The other option, maybe a long shot, was the fact that Ellis’ body had sensed that he was parted from his alpha and that it had decided to take pity on him and not put him through a heat. It may have been naïve, but Ellis chose to believe this option. It was better than hoping he was pregnant and being faced with eventual disappointment. Regardless of the reasoning, Ellis knew that he didn’t want to be in Hungary any longer. The situation wasn’t getting better; if anything, it was getting worse. It didn’t help that the Hungarian government was being antagonised by the Romanians, or that the council of Allied Nations decreed a new demarcation line at the Paris Peace Conference which riled the Hungarians. No, Ellis needed to go home and now.

He needed Igor.

Ellis had used every single contact that he had made, used every single Korona that he had and managed to place a phone call to Igor in Lausanne. At the sound of Igor’s familiar, most beloved voice, Ellis’ stomach had clenched, and his heart had swooped in his chest. Igor had not attempted to hide his concern, or his relief that Ellis was intending upon leaving Hungary as soon as possible and making his way to Igor in Switzerland. As he listened to Igor speak of his new composition, Ellis felt a slight flutter in his stomach and pressed his hand to it, wrapping that beloved voice around him like a blanket and letting it settle his unease.

It would not be long until they were reunited.

~*~

For all that Ellis had hoped his symptoms would miraculously disappear the instant that he and Igor were reunited, he had been hoping in vain.

The train journey from Budapest to Lausanne had been gruelling and Ellis had spent all of it either in the bathroom vomiting or in his compartment trying to quell his nausea. The worry etched on Igor's face when he saw Ellis made him feel guilty, but this was hardly something he had control of. The subsequent journey from Switzerland to Paris had been just as debilitating. Igor had fussed the entire way and Ellis had felt rotten enough that he didn't try to stop him.

Any respite that Ellis had hoped for once he and Igor were back in continued close proximity never came and the onslaught continued. He was exhausted no matter how much sleep he got, constantly nauseous and, on the few occasions he did manage to eat, he inevitably ended up revisiting the meal mere minutes later, which meant that he was losing weight he didn't have to lose.

Igor was going into the theatre every day having received a new commission from the Ballet Russes, but it was under sufferance. He disliked leaving Ellis at home when he was clearly so unwell. So, it was not entirely surprising to Ellis when Igor returned home and announced that they would be visiting a doctor.

“Tamara has recommended someone to me. I have made us an appointment for tomorrow.”

“Tamara Karsavina?” Ellis was familiar with the name; she was famous for being the first omegan prima ballerina to grace the Russian stage and now danced with the Ballet Russes. “Why would you accept her suggestion?”

Igor didn’t respond, merely raised an eyebrow while Ellis remained equally silent and simply pursed his lips. He knew exactly why Igor wanted him to see a doctor recommended by an omega. Igor believed that there was a chance that Ellis was pregnant. If he was being completely and utterly honest, Ellis thought there was a chance that he could be pregnant. Or there could be if he hadn’t been told that it wasn’t possible.

But what if the doctors were wrong?

They had all said that Ellis couldn’t bear pups because of his injuries in Belgium, because of what the surgeons had had to do to ensure his survival. However, the Sister that had treated him in the field hospital in Belgium had said that there was a chance he could possibly conceive. He hadn’t found a reprieve from his symptoms since he had been reunited with Igor and they all matched with the early signs of pregnancy.

All Ellis could do was wait to see what the doctor had to say the following day. 

(~*~)

The following morning, a reluctant Ellis followed Igor in the direction of Les Invalides, where they entered a chic townhouse which had a small brass plaque next to the door pronouncing it to be the domain of ‘Docteur Aubin, oméga spécialiste’. They had been ushered into a well-appointed waiting room by a secretary where they were only waiting a matter of minutes before they went in to see the man himself.

Overall, Ellis was very impressed with the man. He was, without a doubt, the most competent that Ellis could recall ever seeing. The man didn’t refer solely to Igor, in fact he was more interested in what Ellis had to say. He was incredibly thorough, wasn’t patronising, listened carefully to everything that Ellis said – confirming details with Igor intermittently - and ran a few checks and tests of his own before pronouncing that he knew what the situation was.

“Congratulations Maestro Stravinsky, Monsieur Ashmead-Bartlett. You’re pregnant.”

Pregnant.

Ellis didn’t know what to say. He had no words. There was a roaring in his ears, and he felt his chest getting tight as he struggled for air.

And then there was nothing but black.

When Ellis came to, he was back on the examination couch with Igor stood next to him, one hand clinging to Ellis’ and murmuring quietly.

“I’m pregnant? Are you certain?”

“Completely and utterly. Why would you not be convinced? Every omega that I have ever treated, has known of their pregnancy before I have confirmed it.”

Ellis smiled ruefully, feeling Igor press a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I am not exactly your average omega, Docteur. I was on suppressants for several years before I was injured badly in Belgium during the war. I was in the Battle of Passchendaele Ridge and was badly wounded by shrapnel.”

He swallowed hard. Even now, over a year later and with Igor at his side, it was hard for Ellis to speak of what had happened. “I was taken to No 32 CCS Brandhoek. Surgeon Major Dean operated on me and I was told that my wounds were severe enough that he was forced to remove parts of my reproductive organs in order to keep me alive. The nurses said that not everything was affected but that there was no way of knowing what damage had been done but, in all likelihood, I would never be able to confirm it. That information was confirmed by a doctor back in London, on Harley Street.”

“Which doctor did you see in London?”

Ellis frowned, but answered readily enough. “Sir George Kingston. He has been my family’s physician for decades.”

Doctor Aubin gave a snort that could only be described as dismissive. “I am aware of Sir George Kingston. That man is a quack and should have stopped working years ago. He has no interest in advances in medicine, merely in the sound of his own voice and he thinks nothing of omegas. As for Surgeon Major Dean, he is an excellent doctor and a gifted surgeon, but he does not know omegas. Myself? I am an omega specialist and your mate was correct to bring you to see me.

There is no doubt in my mind that you are pregnant. How that is possible given your injuries, I do not know. I would have to do a further, detailed examination and, even then, we may not; the human body is a miraculous thing and an omegan body even more so. What I can say, without doubt, is that this will not be an easy pregnancy for you.”

Ellis’ mind was reeling. “But you think I can carry this pup to term?”

“To term, perhaps not. To a point where the pup will be viable? Yes. You will have to take more care than an omega would in a normal pregnancy and I will want to see you regularly to ensure that no problems develop but, my best advice for you this moment, would be to go and celebrate with your mate.”

Ellis and Igor were ushered out of the doctor’s office and back onto the main road outside Invalides. Just as he had so many times before, Igor brought Ellis’ hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles before scenting and kissing the inside of his wrist. The only difference was that this time, his other hand came up to cup Ellis’ belly.

“You are uncommon and incredible, and I could not be prouder to call you my mate. I think good news such as this calls for dinner at L’Escargot Montorgueil. Shall we?”

~*~

Doctor Aubin hadn’t been lying when he had said that it wouldn’t be an easy pregnancy for Ellis. If anything, it had been an understatement. If it weren’t for the fact that there would be a pup at the end of all this, Ellis would have given up. He was certainly on the verge of announcing that, if this were successful, they weren’t having another one.

For a start, the nausea and vomiting never stopped. Ellis had been told that, with most omegas, the nausea and vomiting stopped after the first three months, but clearly Ellis was one of the more unfortunate ones. Admittedly, it got easier than it had been in Hungary; his queasiness was limited to the mornings rather than the whole day, but it was still far from ideal. Although, with his nausea mostly limited to the morning, Ellis was at least to start eating again and prevented Igor from looking at him in such a concerned manner.

It didn’t get better.

Occasional cramps. The feeling that he was going to faint – complete with sudden clammy sweating, ringing in his ears and fast breathing. There were backaches, headaches and sleepless nights where no number of techniques could help him get some rest. Tempestuous mood swings where Ellis was alternately practically in tears at the thought of being separated from Igor and then screaming at him the next. And then, as Ellis’ belly grew, there were the stretchmarks that marred his skin alongside the scarring.

Ellis wasn’t in a hurry to recommend any of it. Oh yes, he was well-aware that the majority of omegas and betas did not suffer as he was. Indeed, many omegas simply sailed through pregnancy because this was what their bodies had been designed for. As far as Ellis was concerned though? This whole thing was why he had never wanted to be a broodmare. He knew that it was harder for him because of what he had experienced, what his body had been subjected to before it had to endure a pregnancy. Yet, even so, the day when he gave birth could not come soon enough.

The only good thing that they had discovered? Pregnancy libido was a wonder. Almost as good as heat sex. And that was coming from Ellis. There wasn’t a single place in their apartment that they hadn’t christened, Ellis craving Igor’s knot more than ever. They were having to become ever more increasingly inventive as Ellis’ belly swelled and certain positions were no longer possible. Ellis didn’t really have an objection to that; how could he, when he got to observe the look of wonder on Igor’s face as Ellis rode him, hands roving gently, reverentially, over Ellis’ body and his swollen belly.


	9. Chapter 9

Given how unwilling he had been to come to Switzerland, Ellis was reluctant to admit that it had been the right decision for them. He felt that his hesitance was deserved; only six miles from Lausanne was Morges, where Igor had briefly lived with Katya. However, the time in Switzerland was exactly what they needed, exactly what Ellis needed. The fresh air and wide-open spaces, a balm after the busy setting of Paris.

They were in Lausanne as the guests of Werner Reinhart, a Swiss philanthropist who had previously financed Igor’s _L’histoire du Soldat_. When commissions from the Ballet Russes had slowed down, stymied by both the disastrous end to Diaghilev’s relationship with Vaslav Nijinsky and his new dalliance with Léonide Massine, not to mention the way that Russia’s refusal to adhere to the Berne Convention made Stravinsky’s ability to collect royalties from his Ballet Russes compositions complicated to say the least. Thus, Reinhart’s offer of financial assistance and somewhere to stay was very much appreciated and Igor had decamped to Switzerland while Ellis had been in Hungary.

While Igor worked on his latest work - a new neo-classical ballet called _Pulcinella_ created in collaboration with Massine and Pablo Picasso – Ellis went for short walks along the shore of Lake Geneva and pondered the possibility of a new book. His two works based upon his time in Gallipoli and the Dardanelles – Despatches from the Dardanelles and Some of my Experiences of the Great War – had been well-received but had been heavily censored. Ellis was quite taken with the idea of writing an uncensored version, everything that he had been banned from writing and including before. In the meantime, he was toying with the idea of something less controversial.

At least for the subject of his book.

When it came to his private life, Ellis was considering something quite controversial. Not, necessarily when viewed by the rest of the society but a little controversial to Ellis’ past sense. He was considering proposing marriage to Igor.

His past self would have been horrified. Ellis had never been interested in marriage, never seen the need for it. He had been the one to say that there was no need for Igor to get the divorce from Katya but, as his pregnancy had progressed, he had been grateful that Igor had insisted upon it because, more than anything, Ellis was finding that the prospect of he and Igor being married before the arrival of their pup was becoming more and more appealing. There was not necessarily any rational reasoning behind it. Just an instinct that was growing stronger and stronger with every passing day.

When it came down to it, he ended up blurting out ‘I think we should get married’ one day as they strolled by Lake Geneva. Not very suave at all. Not what people had come to expect of Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett. Judging by the look of shock on Igor’s face, he hadn’t been expecting it either.

“Was that a question or a statement of fact?”

Ellis had been mortified. In fact, if the ground could have opened up and swallowed him whole, he would have been rather satisfied. “I’m not entirely sure. Either? Both?”

Igor led them to a nearby bench and settled them down. “What has brought this on? Are you feeling well? I know, from our initial conversations that marriage was not your ultimate goal. You may not have said so explicitly, but your feelings were very much clear. If I am not mistaken, you were not overly bothered that I was still married to Katya.”

“I don’t know. Blame the irrationality on the number of pregnancy hormones coursing through my veins. I know that it’s not necessary, that we’re bonded and that supersedes any piece of paper or words spoken by a priest. However, the further I progress through my pregnancy, the more the idea appeals. Sometimes there is no rhyme nor reason to what the heart wants.”

Igor’s thumb brushed over Ellis’ bond mark before his hand slid up to cup Ellis’ cheek, forcing him to make eye contact. “You are correct that it is not necessary given our bonding however, if that is what you wish, then who am I to deny you? I would not be averse to marrying you, Ellis. Far from it.”

Ellis let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and sob – although he would deny the latter if asked. “Are you saying that just to placate me because I’m carrying your pup?”

Igor’s bark of laughter startled several nearby birds. “I would be a fool to attempt to placate you.” Igor drew Ellis closer, scenting his wrist and kissing his palm. “It is an honour to call you my mate, it will be no less an honour to call you my husband.”

~*~

Ellis slowed to a speed that resembled a tortoise as he approached number 31 rue Cambon, the home of Coco Chanel’s eponymous boutique. The place where he had an appointment to possibly have his wedding outfit made. Maybe this hadn’t been one of his more inspired thoughts. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, earlier in the week. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, he was willing to admit that maybe, just maybe, he had been wrong. And just a little bit irrational.

In his defence, it wasn’t entirely his fault.

He was twenty-five weeks pregnant and the hormones were sending him crazy. Despite everything that he had previously thought, Ellis didn’t regret getting pregnant, but he didn’t know if he wanted to do it a second time. This pregnancy had been brutal and, while he had made it this far, he didn’t know if he would make it to the end. As morbid as it may be, he didn’t know if he was pup would make it to the end and would survive. If it did, Ellis wasn’t sure if he was even capable of doing it a second time. That was without taking into consideration Igor’s feelings. Ellis was very aware that he hadn’t been the easiest person to live with, but he knew that Ellis’ survival was the most important thing to Igor; while Igor wanted pups with Ellis, he didn’t want them at the cost of Ellis’ life. His irrationality wasn’t helped by the fact that Ellis currently felt as though he was the size of a house.

It wasn’t as though that had altered Igor’s appreciation of him. If anything, his alpha was even more appreciative of the change in Ellis’ figure. Ellis might not be a fan of the other things that came with pregnancy – swollen ankles, nausea, inability to drink and smoke to his preferred levels, but the heightened libido was a wonderful thing. Yet, the fact that Igor never missed an opportunity to show how much he loved Ellis and how he was still attracted to him, didn’t help Ellis’ mental state. He found himself growing increasingly paranoid, especially with the announcement that Chanel had donated a large amount of money for the Ballet Russes to stage another production of Igor’s _Rite of Spring_.

It didn’t matter that Igor had chosen him. That they had bonded. That they were getting married. It didn’t matter that Ellis had got one over on her already when he had walked into the Théâtre du Châtelet with Igor’s bond mark high on his neck and the hereditary Stravinsky bonding collar glittering around his neck. Normally he wouldn’t give a fuck; he didn’t tend to get jealous but bloody pregnancy hormones were screwing with his brain. Still, he had come this far, he wasn’t going to back out now. With his head held high, he took a deep breath and pushed open the door. He saw the way that the shop girl’s eyes widened as they recognised him.

“I have an appointment with Mademoiselle Chanel. Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett.”

The girl nodded her head, mouth opening and closing like a fish several times before she disappeared into the back. When she reappeared, she was trailing behind her mistress. Chanel was impeccably dressed in her usual colour-scheme of black and white. Her only reaction upon seeing Ellis waiting for her was a barely imperceptible widening of the eyes.

“Monsieur Ashmead-Bartlett. Or is it Stravinsky these days? How … kind of you to grace us with your presence. And in your condition as well. How can the House of Chanel be of assistance?”

“I’m sure that you’ve heard of the forthcoming wedding between Igor and myself. I’m in search of my wardrobe.”

“And you thought of us … we are honoured. We would be … delighted to be of assistance.” The words sounded forced, although Chanel’s polite smile didn’t waver. She made a gesture with one hand, “I’ll have my girls bring out a suitable selection. We may have a few items that will work given your condition.”

Ellis had to hand it to her. Chanel was a master at being a bitch whilst maintaining a veneer of haughty civility. Every single outfit that she produced, while still maintaining the chic cut and finish Chanel was known for, was frumpy in the extreme. He might be pregnant, but Ellis had always been known for his sartorial style and that wasn’t going to change just because his alpha had fucked him well enough to breed him.

Two could play at Chanel’s game.

“On second thoughts, given what you’ve shown me, I don’t think you’re capable of making what I have in mind. I believe I’ll try Elsa Schiaparelli. Maybe she will have the vision needed to make what I want.”

Ellis had no real intention of going to Schiaparelli, he had mentioned her for the sheer fact that her rivalry with Chanel was well-documented. Yet, it was worth mentioning for watching Chanel try to control her reaction while her face turned puce. In all truthfulness, he would end up at Redfern. They were most likely to create something to his liking. Were he in London, he would have gone to Gieves, Hawkes or Henry Poole, although he could have been pushing it for a bespoke suit given how close he was to his due date. Ellis consoled himself that Igor would at least look good, even if Ellis himself resembled a beached whale with a moustache.

His attempt to stalk out were somewhat hampered by the baby bump that preceded him, but it was credible enough. Given how short his appointment had ended up being, he had time to pay a visit to Stohrer on the way home. Igor was partial to their eclairs and deserved a treat given how hard he was still working on _Pulcinella_ , while Ellis was fond of their macarons. If anyone made a comment, he’d just say the pup was craving the sugar.

He’d just have to go back to the drawing board for his wedding suit.

~*~

Ellis was heavily pregnant by the time they made it to the wedding ceremony. Seven months pregnant to be exact. Given how much that Ellis had suffered during his pregnancy, despite the improvements made in Lausanne, Igor had suggested that they postpone the wedding until after Ellis gave birth, but Ellis had refused. He may be uncommon in every other way but, for some inexplicable reason, he wanted his pup to be born in wedlock. It was the whole reason that he had proposed to Igor after all. Or, not so much proposed as demanded the alpha marry him.

They had considered getting married in Paris. Not only was Ellis’ doctor there, but it was where they had been making their life. However, all of Ellis’ family and friends were in London and Igor had just been offered a significant amount of work there with the Aeolian Company once more. So, they had settled upon London as the venue, with the ceremony being held in St Margaret’s, Westminster. In the grounds of Westminster Abbey, it was a church frequently chosen by members of Parliament and by peers for their wedding ceremonies. Both of the Churchill brothers had married here. Ellis’ parents had been married there, as had numerous members of the ton that Ellis had fucked over the years.

Part of the reason that Ellis had chosen the venue had been as a massive fuck-you to the entirety of London society. Mostly to his parents. Ellis hadn’t had any contact with them since their encounter in the Princess Christian Hospital, just after Ellis had returned from Belgium. The very same meeting where his father hadn’t denied that Ellis was defective, had made Ellis feel as though he were an inconvenience. Neither of them had bothered to contact him during his convalescence and so, Ellis hadn’t seen the point in informing them of his bonding.

Yet, even though his parents had never thought much of him, Ellis hadn’t been able to stop himself inviting to them to the wedding. Not because he wanted them there. Not because he had wanted to show them that he had done what they had always wanted him to. No, he had invited them because he wanted them to see that he had found a bond mate that loved him in spite of everything. That he had found an alpha who did not care about Ellis’ excesses, was proud of his independence.

He didn’t know if they would deign to show up but had invited them nonetheless along with his former employers and co-workers from the Press Association including Lord Burnham, a myriad of London society and his beloved Trevelyan sisters. For Igor’s part, his guests included the great and the good of the Russian arts world; Diaghilev, Michel Fokine, prima ballerina Tamara Karsavina (Anna Pavlova declined due to her dislike of what she called Igor’s ‘lack of musicality’), Alexandre Benois and Léonide Massine. The musical director of Pleyel, Jacques Larmanjat, was going to be present as were the famed conductor Leopold Stokowski and Stravinsky’s Swiss benefactor, Werner Reinhart.

(~*~)

When the morning of the big day arrived, Ellis found himself awake with the dawn although he was content to rest in Igor’s arms until the alpha woke. He had had a restless night and, given how fatigued he had been the last few days, he wanted to try and summon as much energy as he could. The intermittent back pains that he had been suffering from for the last twenty-four hours hadn’t exactly helped matters.

He was relieved to be back in London, back in his home. The apartment that they had ended up in Paris – after a few months living in Diaghilev’s flat - had been lovely but it wasn’t _his._ It wasn’t the home that Ellis had created for himself, where he had become the man – the omega – that he was.

The Trevelyan sisters had kept it beautifully over the time that he had been in France, something that he was infinitely grateful for, and they had been ecstatic to see him once more. They had known about his bonding and his pregnancy – they had kept up a written correspondence during his time on the Continent – but knowing about it was very different to seeing it in the flesh. If Ellis had thought that Igor fussed over him, it was nothing compared to that of Joan and Ellen Trevelyan.

Joan had clucked over him, complaining about the weight that he had lost despite the baby bump, and had proceeded to make all of his favourite meals, irrespective of the calories that they contained. She had also stood over him, fixing him with a disapproving stare when she felt that he hadn’t eaten enough. Ellen, meanwhile, actually went to the extent of sending a telegram to his doctor in Paris, asking for his medical recommendations when it came to the last few weeks of Ellis’ pregnancy. She made sure that he got some exercise every day as well as plenty of rest. They also kept the door against the more curious members of society who had either received invitations to the wedding or had heard rumours that Ellis was back in town and wanted to see if they were true.

To his relief, they – and Igor – indulged in Ellis’ nesting instinct. A room at the townhouse, next to the suite that Igor and Ellis used, had been designated the nursery. It had been decorated in neutral colours and Ellis had taken great delight in going shopping and furnishing it with the very best that he could find from Harrod’s, Selfridges and Fortnum and Mason. Ellen Trevelyan would stay on after the birth to help with both the pup and Ellis’ recovery. Each and every day that came closer to Ellis’ due date, he found that he was viewing the arrival of their pup with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

As though the pup sensed the trajectory of Ellis’ thoughts, it kicked strongly, distending Ellis’ abdomen and making him gasp. It was a strong enough movement that it woke Igor who, as he had for the last four months, had taken to sleeping with a hand on Ellis’ belly, cradling their pup. He snuffled and blinked sleepily as he rolled Ellis onto his back, pressing a kiss to the swollen mound as he spoke to their pup.

“Hush, маленький. You need to be kinder to your мама.” And then he turned his attention to Ellis, his eyes slightly unfocused without his glasses. “Are you ready to get married, Дорогой?” “Absolutely. Let’s give the London ton the show that they’ve been waiting for. You’re going to have to help me get out of bed first, though.” 

(~*~)

Ellis paused for a moment to summon the last bit of courage that he needed to embark upon this last little bit. Just beyond these doors – about twenty feet behind them, twenty-five at a push – stood Igor, waiting for Ellis. In the space that separated him from his alpha was potentially half of London society. Equally, there could be no-one but the Trevelyan sisters and the few friends and colleagues that they had invited. Either way, he had to make that trip if he wanted to be able to call Igor his husband.

Nodding at the steward stood by the doors, Ellis grimaced as another ripple of back pain struck and it felt as though the pup roiled in his belly. And then the doors were open, and it seemed as though all of the London ton was there to watch his marriage. Or at least see if he turned up. He hadn’t bothered with a bouquet or anything of that ilk; most of them tended to contain flowers that promised fertility and he felt that his pregnant belly advertised that quite well.

Instead, he raised his chin and heard the whispers ripple through the gathered congregation. His actions showed off not only the silvery-white bond mark, but also the glittering hereditary Stravinsky bonding collar. Ellis’ suit, which had been made at great expense due to the short notice by Gieves, had been cut so that it showed off both to perfection. His sartorial choices were going to be viewed as scandalous by the majority of their guests – maybe only Igor’s colleagues and the Trevelyan sisters being the exception – but, to be perfectly honest, Ellis didn’t care. The bond mark and the collar were hardly the most scandalous part of his outfit anyway; that honour went to the bump that preceded him down the aisle.

Ellis was maybe three-quarters of the way down the aisle when he saw four people that he truly hadn’t expected to see; not only were Sir Ellis and Lady Frances, Ellis’ parents, in attendance but also his uncle William Burdett-Coutts. Next to them, were the Churchill’s and, horror of horrors, General and Lady Hamilton. There had to be no other reason for their presence than the fact that they had wanted to see if there was any truth to the whole matter. Ellis had permitted himself a nod of acknowledgement, but nothing more.

This wasn’t about them anymore; this was about him and Igor and their pup.

Having made it to the front of the church, to where both Igor and the priest awaited him, Ellis proceeded to go through the rest of the ceremony in a daze. He heard the words that the priest spoke as if through a heavy fog, although he didn’t need any prompting when it came to the responses. He and Igor had had several meetings with the priest in the run-up to the ceremony and, at their request, he had removed all of the traditional promises where the omega vowed to obey the alpha. Surprisingly enough, that had been at the request of Igor, rather than Ellis; Ellis had simply glowed at the progressive alpha he was due to marry.

That had drawn some horrified gasps from the more traditional set in attendance. That same set had been horrified by the way that, once they had been pronounced as married, Igor had taken Ellis’ wrist and scented it before pressing a kiss to Ellis’ bond mark followed by a more passionate kiss to his lips.

He didn’t think many of them would make it to the reception.

(~*~)

Given what a large role it had played in their history together, they had decided to have the reception at the Savoy. After all, this was where they had reunited after that first meeting on the train. They were through the majority of the meal and had just cut the cake when Ellis was hit with yet another intense back pain that was followed by what felt like a ripple across his belly. Clearly, his discomfort showed on his face because Joan questioned him, something that was immediately picked up on by Igor.

“Ellis, what’s going on?”

He explained the situation and was immediately concerned by the looks that were exchanged by the Trevelyan sisters and Igor. Even more so when Joan collared a nearby server and asked him to make a room up for the groom.

“Why are you asking for a room? We’ve only just cut the cake and Igor and I weren’t planning on staying here this evening anyway.”

“Ellis, you’re in labour. From what you’ve said, you’ve been in labour for hours, if not the last couple of days. The next time that you leave this hotel, it will be with your pup.”

Ellis shook his head. They couldn’t be telling the truth, they simply couldn’t. “I can’t be in labour. I’m not to term yet, it’s too early.”

Igor did his best to soothe Ellis. “Doctor Aubin always said that you might not carry to term. In truth, you have already far exceeded his expectations. Our pup is not that early. Everything will be okay.”

Ellis had to leave Igor holding court with their guests, as he was ushered upstairs to a room that had been hastily prepared for him. The next few hours were a blur of pain. People were in and out of the room, fetching and carrying things as Ellis laboured to bring his pup into the world. This was worse than any injury he had sustained in any combat situation that he had been in. This came with the sole consolation that, at the end of it all being well, he would be holding his and Igor’s pup in his arms. Even so, he couldn’t help but be afraid that, even though he had done everything as instructed, that this would end badly.

It was strange how far he had come in a matter of years.

Before he had met Igor on a chance train journey on his way home from the Dardanelles, Ellis had been so determined that soul mates did not exist. That the idea of soul mates was hogwash. There was no way that, for every single alpha there was an omega who was the other half of their soul and, when they met, it felt like the stars aligned and everything was right in their world.

And then he had met Igor.

Ellis had spent so long denying it. Denying that they were soul mates, that they belonged together until, finally, he had to admit the truth. They were soul mates. They belonged together. Bonding, a pup and a marriage had followed suit. All things that Ellis had always been adamant that he didn’t want. Yet, he had never banked on Igor Stravinsky. Had never imagined that he would meet an alpha as uncommon as Ellis was an omega. An alpha that would accept Ellis just as he was, that this was him and wouldn’t force him to conform to societal expectations.

They were truly perfect for each other.

And then, finally, with one last shout of exertion, a thin reedy cry split the air. Ellis had done it. Their miracle pup. Ellen wasted absolutely no time in getting it cleaned up and swaddled, before placing him in Ellis’ arms. Ellis had a scant opportunity to scent it and check whether it was a boy or a girl before Igor was bursting through the door, having abandoned their guests in favour of pacing up and down in front of Ellis’ hotel room.

Seating himself on the bed, Igor did as he had done so many times - including mere hours earlier at their wedding ceremony – and scented the inside of Ellis’ wrist before kissing his palm and knuckles as he stared in wonder at the tiny pup snuggled up to Ellis’ breast.

“Igor, meet your son. Fyodor Ellis Igorevich Stravinsky.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to share on Tumblr, you can do so [here](http://vix-spes.tumblr.com/post/176165748800/this-is-me-vixspes-coco-chanel-igor)


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